











!&- - "Silk 

-s 












25 Cts, 



Copyright, 1885, 
by Harper & Brothers 


February 19, 1886 


Entered at the Post-Office at New York, as Second-class ^(ail Matter 




^ ijorkshirc Homauce 

FED 10 1886 ' 

By T. WEMYSS BEI'D 



Books you may hold readily in your hand are the most useful^ after all 

Dr. Johnson 


NEW YORK 

HARPER k BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 

1886 


HARPER’S HANDY SERIES. 


Latest Issues. 

NO. CENTS. 

22. Old-World Questions and New- World Answers, By Daniel 

Pidgeon, F.G.S., Assoc. Inst. C.E 25 

23. In Peril and Privation. By James Payn. Illustrated 25 

24. The Flower of Doom, &c. By M. Betham-Edwards 25 

25. The Luck of the Darrells. A Novel. By James Payn 25 

26. Houp-la. a Novelette. By John Strange Winter, Illustrated, 25 

27. Self-Doomed. A Novel. By B. L. Farjeon 25 

28. Malthus and His Work. By James Bonar, M.A 25 

29. The Dark House. A Novel. By G. Manville Fenn 25 

30. The Ghost’s Touch, and Other Stories. By Wilkie Collins 25. 

31. The Royal Mail. By James Wilson Hyde. Illustrated 25 

32. The Sacred Nugget. A Novel. By B. L, Farjeon 25 

33. Primus in Indis. A Romance. By M. J. Colquhoun 25 

34. Musical History. By G. A. Macfarren • 25 

35. In Quarters with the 25th Dragoons. By J. S. Winter 25 

36. Goblin Gold. A Novel. By May Crommelin 25 

37. The Wanderings of Ulysses. By Prof. C. Witt. Translated 

by Frances Younghusband 25 

38. A Barren Title. A Novel. By T. W. Speight 25 

39. Us: An Old-fashioned Story. By Mrs. Molesworth. Ill’d.... 25 

40. Ounces of Prevention. By Titus Munson Coan, A.M., M.D 25 

41. Half-Way. An Anglo-French Romance 25 

42. Christmas Angel. A Novel.,^ By B. L. Farjeon. Illustrated... 25 

43. Mrs. Dymond. A Novel. By Miss Thackeray . 25 

44. The Bachelor Vicar of Newforth. A Novel. By Mrs. J. llar- 

court-Roe 25 

45. In the Middle Watch. A Novel. By W. Clark Russell. ..... 25 

46. Tiresias, and Other Poems. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson ...... 25 

47. Last Days at Apswich. A Novel 25 

48. Cabin and Gondola. By Charlotte Dunning ' 30 

49. Lester’s Secret. A Novel. By Mary Cecil Hay 30 

50. A Man of Honor. A Novel. By J. S. Winter. Illustrated ... ^5 

51. Stories of Provence. From the French of Alphonse Daudet. 

By S. L, Lee 25 

52. ’Twixt Love and Duty. A Novel. By Tighe Hopkins 25 

53. A Plea for the Constitution, &c. By George Bancroft 25 

54. Fortune’s Wheel, A Novel. By Alex, Innes Shand 25 

55. Lord Beaconsfield’s Correspondence with his Sister — 

1832-1852 25 

56. Mauleverer’s Millions. A Yorkshire Romance. By T. Wemyss 

Reid 25 

67. What Does History Teach? Two Edinburgh Lectures. By 

John Stuart Blackie 25 

Other volumes in preparation. 


4®* Harper & Brothers loill send any of the above works by mail, postage pre~ 
paid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


MAULEVERER’S MILLIONS 


CHAPTER 1. 

AT THE RAILWAY STATION. 

It is not often that a man in looking back upon the 
story of his life can fix the precise moment at which 
his fate underwent a change that was destined to affect 
his whole future career. Sometimes, however, that 
turning-point when the current of one’s existence was 
altered for the better or the worse stands out promi- 
nently among the every-day incidents of a life, and it is 
possible to say just when and where the great change 
was wrought that has made the man what he now is. 

If any one were to ask me whether I could fix upon 
such a turning-point in my own career, my thoughts 
would instantly fly back to one hot day in the month of 
August, T87-, when I found myself the solitary occu- 
pant of a first-class railway carriage standing in the 
great station at York. I was looking out upon the 
bustling scene on that cheerful platform with not a lit- 
tle interest and amusement. Wearied by months of 
tedious work in London, I was on my way to Scar- 
borough, for the purpose of recruiting my health, and 


2 


maulevebee’s millions. 


improving my spirits, depressed by a recent bereave- 
ment, in that famous pleasure resort. It seemed to me 
that here at York I was already feeling some of the 
benefits which the doctor had told me that a change of 
scene would bring in its train. The air, even in the 
railway station, was distinctly fresher than that which I 
had breathed a few hours before at King’s Cross ; and 
the men and women who were hurrying to and fro on 
the platform, in all the hot excitement of travellers at 
the height of thfe tourist season, were very different 
from the pale-faced jaded loungers I had left behind me 
in the streets of London. 

It was my first visit to York since the erection of the 
palatial station which has taken the place of the little 
pink-roofed shed that so long sheltered the traveller as 
he paused on his fiight to the north, and I was lost in 
admiration of the architectural magnificence of the 
new building. I was hardly conscious myself of my 
absorption in the scene before me, until I was startled 
by a voice at my very ear. 

‘‘ Would you be kind enough to allow me to enter the 
carriage 

It was a woman’s voice, sweet and deep-toned, such as 
all men love to hear. The speaker was standing with 
her hand upon the handle of the door, which she had 
evidently been trying to open at the moment when my 
eyes were fixed in admiration upon the great span of 
the station roof. She was young and handsome, so 
much as that I saw at a glance ; and she was dressed 
with singular elegance. 

“ I beg your pardon ! ” I cried in confusion, and I 
fear with a blush dyeing my cheeks and forehead ; for I 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


3 


was still young enough to be subject to that weakness. 
I hastily opened the door and stepped ‘back. 

The girl — for I now saw that she was little more — 
entered the carriage with some appearance of haste. 
She was accompanied by an unmistakable lady’s-maid, 
of demure aspect, who was laden with the inevitable 
dressing-case, which she carried with a care that sug- 
gested the value of its contents. Her mistress turned 
to a porter who was in attendance laden with various 
small parcels, and giving him half-a-crown, said, 

“ The train is just going, I think 

‘‘Yes, miss, it only wants one minute to the time, 
thank you, miss, kindly touching his hat and pocket- 
ing his handsome douceur, 

“Would you be kind enough — ” said the young lady, 
then she looked at me for a moment, and I could have 
sworn there was a slight increase of color in her cheeks 
also. “ Would you be kind enough to lock the door?” 
she resumed ; but the porter was already out of ear- 
shot, and her request was not attended to. Griving up 
the attempt to arrest his attention as hopeless, she sank 
back into her seat with a little sigh, that might have 
been one either of satisfaction or uneasiness. There 
was something singularly attractive in her whole ap- 
pearance. She had only been a few seconds in the car- 
riage with me, and yet her presence seemed to pervade 
the whole apartment, and some subtle indefinable 
spring of joy in my own heart was touched at the 
thought that for an hour or more we were to be fellow- 
travellers. 

I looked into her face as she sat with her eyes fixed 
upon the door. She had taken the seat furthest from 


4 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


the j^latform, but I could see that she was watching the 
crowd in the station with an intentness that was surpris- 
ing even to one ordinarily so unobservant as myself. Sud- 
denly I beheld the most extraordinary change pass over 
the face, the beauty of which I was admiring perhaps 
more openly than I was aware. Every vestige of color 
faded out of it ; even the rich full lips that had seemed 
made for smiles and bright conversation and kisses 
turned white, and long lines of care* or terror were pen- 
cilled on the forehead. I followed the direction of her 
eyes, and saw that they were fixed upon ^ man who 
was looking into the carriage — a youngish man, with a 
handsome dissipated face, which spoke eloquently of a 
life of vicious self-indulgence, and a sneering insolent 
smile upon his lips, that told something of the heart 
that was beating in his breast. 

He nodded familiarly to the girl, and then, with a sin- 
ister laugh of triumph, laid his hand upon the door. 

“ Oh, stop him, sir ! stop him ! For the love of 
heaven do not let him enter 1” 

I could hardly believe the evidence of my own ears, 
when I heard the voice in which she addressed me. Her 
tone had undergone as great a transformation as her 
features. If ever mortal terror was expressed by a 
voice, it was now in the harsh strained accents in which 
she spoke. 

I did not wait to ask for any explanation. It was 
enough that she had appealed to me for aid. The 
young blood ran more rapidly through my veins. I felt 
rather than saw that she was appealing to me, not only 
with her voice, but with her beautiful eyes, her clasped 
hands, and the whole attitude of the figure, the symme- 


mauleveree’s millions. 


5 


try of which a moment before I had been admiring. I 
turned to the door, which the man was already trying to 
open as the train began to move slowly out of the station. 

“ You cannot get in here !” I said, holding the door 
hard against his attempt to open it. With a scowl upon 
his handsome evil face, he struck at me through the open 
window. Almost before I was conscious of the smart 
of the blow which had fallen upon my mouth, he was 
lying on his back on the platform, where, as the train, 
with increasing speed, proceeded on its journey, I could 
see a little group of officials and spectators quickly 
gather round his prostrate form. 

It had all passed in a moment. I might have thought 
that it was only a dream, as the train went quickly over 
the railway bridge, and past the gray towers of the Min- 
ster, if it had not been for the undoubted presence of 
the lady and her attendant, and for the fact that my lip 
was bleeding where 1 had been struck. I was more ex- 
cited than I appeared to be. Whilst I stanched the 
slight cut with my handkerchief, I looked towards the 
girl at whose bidding I had just struck a stranger to the 
ground. She was still white and trembling violently, 
and her maid was fumbling with the stopper of a bottle 
of scent. My own heart was beating quickly with the 
excitement of the strange encounter, but when I saw 
her pale face and manifest agitation, I felt that I must 
be calm for her sake. 

I smiled and said, “ You are not frightened, I hope. 
I was forced to strike him back after he struck me, but 
I do not think he was hurt.” 

^‘But you?” she said in a voice that shook as she 
spoke ; “ he has hurt you !” 


6 


mauleveeee’s millions. 


Oh, it is a mere trifle !” I cried, glad to have heard 
her speak again. It is absolutely nothing. The fellow 
was certainly very rude in trying to enter the carriage 
when he knew he was not wanted. And it is necessary 
sometimes to give such people a lesson.” 

I spoke with the bragging self-confldence of a boy 
who has just performed a feat of which he is rather 
proud. But I must do myself justice. My manner 
was assumed. In my heart I knew that I had acted in 
an inexcusable way in refusing to allow this stranger to 
enter a carriage in which there was ample room for him ; 
and perhaps — for I am no hero — I had even some faint 
misgivings as to the consequences to myself if he should 
choose to take proceedings against me for assault. I 
had acted I knew upon the impulse of the moment. 
But I was not ordinarily so impulsive as I had been on 
this occasion. I should never have struck the man 
even after he had struck me, if it had not been for the 
cry of terror with which the girl had implored my pro- 
tection against him. 

“ It was wrong of me,” she said now. “ I ought 
never to have asked you to keep him out of the carriage. 
Oh, I am so sorry !” 

She looked at me earnestly, and as she did so I saw 
with delight that the color was slowly coming back to 
her cheeks. I saw too that her eyes were of a dark 
brown that matched well the shade of her hair, whilst her 
voice was regaining something of the depth and mellow 
sweetness which had attracted me when she flrst spoke. 

I tried to treat the whole affair as a joke; and, in 
part, I think I succeeded. As the girl recovered from 
the sudden fright and shock of the encounter, she re- 


mauleverer’s millions. 


7 


gained the composure of manner which had distinguished 
her when she entered the carriage, and by and by she 
smiled, and gave me fresh subject for wonder and admi- 
ration as I contrasted the deep color of her lips with the 
pearly whiteness of her teeth. 

But I confess that I was somewhat piqued when I 
found that although unmistakably grateful to me for 
the assistance I had rendered her, she showed no dispo- 
sition to take me into her confidence. Amid her re- 
peated inquiries as to whether I still felt the smart of 
the cut on my lip, and her renewed expressions of grati- 
tude, she gave me no hint as to her reason for desiring 
to avoid the companionship of the man with whom I 
had, on her account, been brought into such unpleasant 
personal relations, nor did she make her own identity 
in any way known to me. 

Yet if this reserve made me feel rather indignant, 
that feeling was lost in the sense of pleasure with which 
I sat beside her. ItTever before, I thought, had I met 
with a woman so beautiful. And as we changed the 
conversation, both manifestly trying to ^t rid of the 
memory of the scene at the railway-station, and talked 
on other and more pleasant topics, I quickly came to the 
conclusion that she was as sympathetic as she was lovely. 
It is not a long journey, as my readers probably know, 
from York to Scarborough. In less than an hour and 
a half we had reached our destination. But long be- 
fore we came in sight of Oliver’s Mount I felt towards 
this beautiful young girl, with the splendid figure, the 
lovely eyes, the rich complexion, and the smile that 
was frankness itself, as I had never felt towards any 
woman before in my lonely and uneventful life. 


8 


MATJLEVEEEB’s MILLION'S. 


‘‘Ah, SO we have reached Scarborough,” she said. 
“ How quickly the journey has passed ! Do you know 
the place ? It is my first visit to it. Perhaps” — and 
she blushed as she spoke — “we may see each other 
again some day. But I do not know.” Her voice I 
thought grew sad as she uttered these last words ; and a 
delicate veil of reserve seemed to pass over the beautiful 
face into which I was gazing now with an admiration 
and interest which I made no attempt to conceal. 

“ I hope so,” I said eagerly. “ I shall be staying at 
the Grand Hotel ; and everybody here must constantly 
meet upon the parade at the saloon.” 

I hoped that she would mention her name, or at least 
tell me to what hotel she was going. Hay, for an in- 
stant a wild idea crossed my mind that she might ask 
me for my own name ; for the circumstances under 
which we had become acquainted with each other were 
certainly unconventional, and, in ray youthful inexperi- 
ence, I fancied tl^t they almost justified such a depart- 
ure from common usage. 

But it was clear that this was not her intention. She 
made no direct response to my words. But she gave 
me her hand, and whilst she again thanked me with her 
voice, she thanked me still more warmly with her eyes, 
which met my own for a single instant in a glance that 
thrilled my very heart. 

Then, attended by the demure maid, by whom no 
word had been uttered during the whole journey, she 
left the carriage, and was almost directly lost to my 
view upon the crowded platform. 

At the table d’hote that evening I fear I paid little 
attention to the prosings of the old gentleman by my 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


9 


side, who insisted upon taking me into his confidence as 
to the prospects of the trade of Bradford, and the state 
of politics in the West Riding. I am afraid, indeed, 
that despite all the information which he gave me in 
the rough honest tones which I found to be one of the 
characteristics of most of the people around me, I should 
stand a poor chance of gaining a competitive examina- 
tion on the subject of the Bradford trade. Whether its 
sjpecialite is woollen or worsted, broadcloth or shoddy, I 
cannot say even now; although I certainly ought to 
have known a great deal about it after my hour’s talk 
with my good-natured neighbor at the table. 

But all through that long dinner my mind was busy 
with the scene at the railway- station at York, and with 
the face of the girl who had made me her slave. Yes 
difficult as it was to realize the fact, I could not dispute 
it. I, Cyril Fenton, twenty-five years of age, sober, 
steady, and thoughtful, whose whole life had been given 
to study under the care of the best of fathers, and who, 
until the great blow which had left me an orphan had 
descended upon me some six months before, had known 
little or nothing of the world beyond the walls of my 
happy home, had suddenly confuted all the ideas which 
my friends entertained of me and all the theories which 
I had formed for my own guidance in life, by falling 
desperately, even madly, in love with a girl whose very 
existence had been unknown to me six hours before, and 
of whose name, position, and character I was still in ab- 
solute ignorance. 

I could hardly believe it, keen though the pain was 
which made me conscious of the truth. I should have 
liked to laugh my foolish passion to scorn ; but I could 


10 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


not do so. It had mastered me as I had never been 
mastered before. I almost groaned aloud as I realized 
the strength of the spell which had been cast over me 
by the subtle witchery of this fair stranger. 

When I first took my seat at the dinner-table 1 had 
looked eagerly among the faces at the long tables, 
hoping that perchance I might see her there. It was a 
foolish fancy, and it was doomed to disappointment. 
Now, when at last the tedious meal was at an end, and 
I was released from the attentions of the kindly bore 
beside me, I hurried out of the great hotel, and took my 
way to the terrace in front of the saloon. It was still 
early, and the gay crowd had not yet mustered in 
force. I searched everywhere for her ; and everywhere 
in vain. 

And then I consoled myself with the thought that, 
after the agitation of the afternoon, she would hardly 
feel inclined to spend the evening in sauntering on the 
terrace, where now the laughing throng was moving 
slowly to and fro, whilst the strains of the band fioated out 
across the bay, and a thousand streaks of silver told where 
the moonbeams kissed the crest of each wavelet as it 
leaped towards the shore. Yes, even this beautiful scene, 
which was almost new to me, for I had not visited Scar- 
borough since I was a child, could hardly lure her out 
of doors to-night, after the excitement of such a day. 

Yet whilst reason told me this, my eyes continued to 
seek for her everywhere, and it was not until long after 
the band had ceased to play and the last of the holiday- 
makers had retired that with an aching heart I gave up 
the fruitless search, and went to my bed, to pass a night 
of fitful slumber and troubled dreams. 


mauleveree’s millions. 


11 


CHAPTER II. 

THE MILLIONAIRE. 

There is hardly a brighter booth in Yanity Fair,” 
to adopt Thackeray’s metaphor, than Scarborough ; and 
its gayety was at the highest point when I reached it on 
that pleasant August afternoon. The hotels were full, 
the promenade was crowded every morning and even- 
ing, the band played its best, the weather was perfect 
during the long warm days, and every night there was 
a ball at one or other of the hotels. 

It should have been impossible for a young man who 
had no private cares to worry him, who was passably 
well off, and who was now emerging from the shadow 
of bereavement, to feel dull in such a place. And yet 
never did I spend a duller or a more miserable week than 
that which followed my arrival at the Grand Hotel. 

Day after day I went, immediately after breakfast, to 
the famous Spa grounds, haunting them till I became 
conscious of the fact that men and women alike specu- 
lated as to my identity. Night after night I was found 
in the same spot watching the giddy, laughing throng 
of pleasure-seekers, the young, the old, the rich, the 
poor, the wise, the foolish, as they sauntered up and 
down listening to the mingled music of the band and 
of the sea. I even went to some of the balls at the va- 
rious hotels, and mingled with the frisky matrons, the 
dowdy country-girls, and the men of doubtful antece- 
dents and unprepossessing appearance, who seemed to 


12 


mauleveeee’s millions. 


constitute the stock company at these entertainments. 
I went everywhere where my fellow-creatures were in 
the habit of congregating, and gave every hour ot my 
time that was not spent in sleep to the search on which 
I was intent. But all was in vain. 

I was angry with myself because of the bondage in 
which my fancy held me, and again and again I thought 
of flying from the scene and forgetting everything in 
distant travel. But whenever I was on the point of 
carrying out this intention my resolution failed me. 
The picture of the loveliest face I had ever seen rose be- 
fore my eyes. I saw her once again, as I had seen her 
when she stood before me, her hand resting lightly in 
my own, and her glance answering mine, as she spoke 
the few commonplace words which were her only fare- 
well. And whenever that vision presented itself to me, 
the spell was thrown over me afresh, and I admitted to 
myself that I had met my fate — and succumbed to it. 

Yet there was nothing that was pleasurable in my 
mood, even at those moments when I thought only of 
the girFs beauty and grace. I could not drive from my 
recollection the memory of that other face — the face of 
the man whom I had struck down at the railway-station 
at York. Whenever I thought of the one, the features 
of the other obtruded themselves upon me. 

What was the reason of that strange scene, when she 
had appealed to me to drive this man from her presence ? 
My heart grew hot with anger and bitter with unavail- 
ing jealousy as I reflected that at least he must have 
known her far better than I did, and that, deeply as she 
might hate him or fear him, he possessed some power 
over her of which I knew nothing. 


mauleverer's millions. 


13 


What was the mystery associated with that beautiful 
face ? In vain I racked my brain for some solution of 
the enigma. I only knew that in some fashion, holy or 
unholy, this girl, who in a bi^ief hour of time had made 
me more completely her slave than any other human 
being had ever done, was associated with the man, vi- 
cious and vulgar, whose air of insolent triumph as he 
greeted her I could never recall without a shudder. 
There were not wanting other diversions in Scarborough 
besides those of which I have spoken, but I cared for 
none of them, and as the days passed, and my search 
met with no success, I would fain have shrunk even 
from the accidental acquaintances I had made in the 
hotel. It was only at the dinner-table, indeed, or in the 
smoking-room late at night, that I ever exchanged a 
word with a fellow-creature. 

All round me, however, there was enough and more 
than enough of noisy talk to hide my sullen and self- 
absorbed silence. Nor could I shut my mind to a 
knowledge of the fact that all Scarborough was just then 
buzzing with excitement over a new topic of interesting 
gossip. 

It was one of the society journals which had set the 
story, about wliich all were now talking, afloat. The 
gay watering-place had, it seemed, received among its 
many summer guests one who was exceptionally distin- 
guished. It was not that he was of high rank or of 
great genius. Eank and genius are novelties to be 
found at times even at Scarborough, but they do not 
appear to make any great impression upon the ordinary 
frequenters of the place. That which set everybody 
talking about Mr. Mauleverer, the gentleman whose 


14 


mauleveker’s millions. 


presence in Scarborough had been chronicled in the 
society journal in question, was his enormous wealth. 
People talked of it, speculated upon it, gloated over it ; 
and men and women alike were wild with anxiety to be 
brought into close contact with one whose riches were 
said to be fabulous in their amount. 

Mr. Mauleverer, I discovered from what I saw in the 
newspapers and heard from those around me, was a 
millionaire of the new style. He was supposed to be 
some distant connection of the old Lancashire family of 
the same name. But, though English in blood and 
name, he was not English either by birth or upbringing. 
He was a colonist, and had been born and had spent all 
his life in Australia. The scandal-loving throng with 
whom I mixed in the hotel or on the promenade made 
light of his origin. There were some, indeed, who pro- 
fessed to know on that “best authority” which the 
tale-bearer always has at his command, that he was the 
son of a convict, a man who had disgraced his family in 
the early part of the present century, and who had ex- 
piated his sins by transportation. There were others 
who even hinted that he himself was not free from re- 
proach. But upon two points there was no doubt in 
the mind of anybody. The first was, that the man was 
enormously rich — rich beyond the dreams of avarice — 
and the other, that he was a bachelor of something 
more than middle age. 

As to the manner in which he had made the five mil- 
lions sterling, with the possession of which he was credit- 
ed, all sorts of stories were told. It was of course in keep- 
ing with the way of the world that some of these stories 
should be anything but creditable to the millionaire 


mauleverer’s millioi^s. 


15 


himself. But young as I was, I had learned enough to 
know that it does not do to believe all the evil that is 
spoken of one^s fellows, and for my part I inclined to 
the more charitable theory which alleged that Maulev- 
erer’s wealth liad been accumulated by the simplest and 
most natural of all processes — the enormous increase 
which had taken place in the value of land in the colony 
in which he had been born. Starting life in the days 
when Australia was still in its infancy, as the owner of 
vast tracts of country, then comparatively valueless, he 
had seen his great sheep-walks, and the barren stretches 
of sandy soil which he owned in the neighborhood of 
the little ports that had since developed into flourishing 
cities, turned literally into gold without any effort on 
his own part. 

“ Five millions, if it is a penny !” This was what a 
young barrister named Harding, whose acquaintance I 
had made in the hotel smoking-room, was never tired 
of saying. “ Five millions, and not an encumbrance of 
any kind, or chick or child to whom to leave it.” 

“ My dear fellow,” I responded feebly, for I felt but 
little interested in this all-absorbing topic, “ what does 
it matter to you or to me how much the man is worth ? 
We shall never reap any beneflt from his gold.” 

“ Ah, you are young,” said my lively companion, who 
was really no older than myself. “ You don’t under- 
stand the world yet, Fenton. Haven’t you seen how all 
the dowagers in the hotel here are laying their plans to 
capture the unfortunate wretch as soon as he makes his 
appearance among them ? When you have lived a lit- 
tle longer you will begin to realize the power of gold. I 
tell you, sir, that there isn’t a woman in this place, at this 


16 


mauleverer’s millions. 


moment, who wouldn’t sell her daughter in marriage to 
this man Maiileverer, though he were old as Methusaleh, 
and as wicked as Satan. And there isn’t a girl in the 
place, either, who wouldn’t cheerfully say ‘ yes ’ to the 
bargain if it were proposed to her. Five millions ! 
Why, the man who owns it can do anything.” 

‘‘ Why do you talk such nonsense ?” I said, angrily. 
“ You cannot mean what you say. You wish to make 
all women out to be as bad as a few men are.” 

I was hot with indignation. Why I hardly knew 
myself. I had no near female relations of my own — 
none for whom I cared. But somehow or other, when 
Harding talked in this style, sneering at all womankind 
as though all alike were bad, the face of the girl I had 
met in the train rose before my eyes, and I felt con- 
strained to do battle with him, if it were only upon her 
account. 

He laughed lazily. 

“ You excite yourself, my good fellow, unnecessarily,” 
he said. “ Of course I am not even hinting at the pos- 
sibility of there being any mercenary persons among the 
ladies of your acquaintance. Ho doubt there are ex- 
ceptions to every rule ; but for my part I have not yet 
seen the woman whom five millions would not fetch. 
Wait and see for yourself, when the great man deigns 
to put in an appearance at the morning parade.” 

“ I thought he had already done so,” I replied, feeling 
a certain amount of compunction at the anger I had 
sliown. “ He has been in Scarborough for some time, 
has he not ?” 

“ He is in this hotel at the present moment ; but he 
is laid up with some illness, — gout, I suppose, as it is the 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


17 


rich man’s special ailment, — and has never been out of 
doors since his arrival, two weeks ago.” 

This was only one of the innumerable occasions on 
which Mauleverer and his millions were dinned into my 
ears, until I grew to hate the very sound of the man’s 
name. It seemed to me that this vulgar image of 
brazen wealth, about which everybody talked so con- 
stantly, was a rival even in my heart to that other im- 
age of youth and beauty upon which my fancy was 
fixed. I tried to shake ofi Harding’s unpleasant sug- 
gestion with regard to the readiness of all women to 
yield themselves to the seductions of the man’s gold ; 
but I could not do so altogether, and in the state of 
mind to which my passion had brought me, I positively 
began to wish that this Mauleverer would take his de- 
parture from Scarborough before I had again met with 
the lady of the train. What, I thought to myself, if 
she were to be brought within the reach of the magical 
infiuence of the millions ? 

That she was still in the town I never for a moment 
doubted. Why I should have clung so stoutly to this 
conviction, I cannot pretend to say. But so it was. 
An instinct, some secret presentiment, assured me that 
she was still near me though unseen, and that I should 
meet her again. 

One lovely morning, when the golden sunshine was 
flooding the bay, and the genial summer warmth, temr 
pered by the pleasant sea-breeze, was tempting every- 
body out of doors, I went for my usual walk in the Spa 
grounds. Perhaps it was the weather that had stirred 
the young blood in my veins, and had made me feel 
more confident than I had ever done before of success ; 
% 


18 


mauleveker’s millions. 


but whatever may have been the cause, it is certain that 
as I walked across the bridge by which the grounds are 
entered my step was more elastic and my head lighter 
than on any previous visit to the place. 

“ How well you look this morning !” cried Harding, 
whom I found seated on a bench not far from the en- 
trance to the grounds. “ Scarborough suits you, I see. 
Come and sit beside me for a little. We can see all the 
world as it passes.” 

Thanks ; I’ll join you presently,” I said. “ I would 
like first, however, to stroll to the end of the prome- 
nade.” 

Something within me urged me onward. 

“ Ah !” he replied, with a light laugh of genial 
mockery. “ You are like everybody else, I see. But 
how long is it since you vowed to me that the man’s 
gold would never — no, never — attract you ?” 

I looked at him in blank surprise, and said nothing. 

“ What ! have you not heard ?” he continued, after 
reading the truth in my puzzled face. “ Why, I thought 
the news had spread by this time to the uttermost nooks 
and corners of Scarborough. Why, he is there — down 
below by the band — Mauleverer, the millionaire. That 
is why we have this end of the gardens to ourselves 
this morning. It is just as I told you it would be — all 
the old dowagers are fighting for places near him ; but 
unfortunately for their chances the young ladies have 
been beforehand, and have made a regular ring round 
the man. It is quite a pretty spectacle, I assure you : 
all the beauty and talent of the ‘ Queen of English 
Watering Places ’ — that’s what they call it, is it not? — 
concentrated in one particular spot, and all for the bene- 


mauleverer’s millions. 


19 


fit of one poor mortal in the ordinary dress of a nine- 
teenth-century tourist.” 

‘‘ Confound the fellow !” I said. I care nothing 
either for him or his money. I shall stop with you.” 
And I seated myself beside him. 

Harding lifted his hat, and made me a low bow. 

‘‘ What a compliment you pay me ! Believe me I am 
grateful. But there, my good fellow, don’t waste your 
time on me. Even if you don’t care about the million- 
aire it will be well worth your while to have a peep at 
the pretty faces. There are some fresh ones to-day, and 
some of them, I assure you, are not unworthy even of 
your attention. Go ; and I’ll wait for you, to hear 
what you think of the spectacle.” 

He lighted a cigarette with that air of buoyant self- 
possession which I could not help envying in him, and 
I felt compelled to comply with his wish. 

Perhaps he liad exaggerated a little when he described 
the popular excitement over Mauleverer’s advent. 
There were, at any rate, some worthy people sitting 
under the* veranda, or by the side of the sea-wall, who 
seemed more intent upon the enjoyment of the sunshine, 
or of each other’s society, than upon mobbing the man 
of millions. Indeed, when I reached the open space in 
the middle of which the stand for the musicians is 
placed, though I was conscious that the attendance at 
that point was unusually large, I saw nothing of the ex- 
citement of which Harding had spoken. People were 
sitting or walking about very much in their usual 
fashion, and if there were some special centre of attrac- 
tion, I, at all events, was unable to discover it. 

I looked round to see if I could identify the man 


20 


MAULEVEREE’s MILLIOIfS. 


about wliom I had heard so much. There were elderly 
gentlemen of every complexion, style, and character 
seated in the bright sunshine; and once or twice I 
thought that I had fixed upon the millionaire. But in- 
variably, in such cases, the person who seemed to me to 
suit the character was accompanied by a lady of nearly 
his own age, who appeared to exercise over him all the 
authority of a wife. None of these persons, therefore, 
could be Mauleverer, who, I had been told, was not 
married. 

I was on the point of turning away with a cynical 
refiection in my mind upon the difficulty of identifying 
any particular character by the outward appearance of 
a man, when I saw that which made my heart for a 
moment stand still, and then beat with a violence that 
almost stifled me. 

She was there ! Seated in one of the most sheltered 
corners of the open space, her face half hidden by the 
parasol which she held, she was leaning back listening 
to the music, and taking little notice of the crowd 
around her. I knew her in an instant; knew her in 
spite of the fact that the parasol shaded her face, and 
that she was dressed in a different style from that which 
she wore when I last saw her. The heavens seemed 
suddenly to have opened themselves above me. The 
scene had been brilliant enough before, in that glorious 
morning sunshine ; but it seemed to have been darkness 
itself to what it was now, when I had found her again. 
All thought of the millionaire passed clean out of my 
mind. If I had come upon a thousand Mauleverers at 
that moment I should not have seen one of them. 

And yet I did not obey the first wild prompting of 


MAULEVEREr’s MILLIOIfS. 


21 


my heart and rush forward to claim acquaintance with 
her. An unaccountable shyness came over me. I dared 
not make myself known to her again. How could I tell 
that she wished to see me once more ? In her mind I 
must be associated with a painful and humiliating in- 
cident. It might well be that she would wish never to 
meet me again. 

But even as this dark thought crossed my mind, send- 
ing a sudden chill through my veins, like that caused 
by the passing of a thunder-cloud across the summer 
sky, I remembered her look when she bade me farewell, 
and hope and joy again gained the ascendency. I felt 
that there was between us a link of sympathy the nature 
of which I might not perhaps understand, but the reality 
of which I could not question. 

What joy it was to stand there, unseen by her, and 
watch the beautiful face ! I only now began to understand 
how deeply I loved her. The world might laugh at me 
as it pleased — a month ago I should have been ready to 
laugh at myself ; but for me this was the one woman of 
all women — my love, my life, my fate. I knew it now, 
if I had not realized it during the long days of restless 
torture which had passed since I last saw her. 

Her face was paler than it had been then, I saw, and 
her whole expression was more subdued, more pensive 
than it was when we conversed in the railway-carriage. 
There was something in her eyes which I could not un- 
derstand — a far-away, dreamy look, as though the mind 
were engaged upon quite other scenes than those which 
were impressed upon the retina. A pang of jealousy 
-shot through my breast as I noticed this. 

How dear she was to me ! That was what I whispered 


22 


MAULEVERER S MILLIONS. 


to my heart. It seemed as thougli I had known her and 
loved her all the days of my life ; and when once, with a 
gesture which I had observed when I sat opposite to her 
in the railway-carriage, she adjusted one of the dark 
brown tresses of her hair, the sweet familiarity of the 
movement made my eyes moist with sudden emotion. 

Her companion was a little man, plainly, almost shab- 
bily, dressed, whose gray hair and bent frame indicated 
that he was advanced in life, and who showed by the 
manner in which he used his glasses that he was short- 
sighted. I could trace no resemblance to her in his 
features. Once or twice she spoke to him, and I saw 
that when she did so he always turned towards her with 
a quick movement of attention, and that his withered 
old face lighted up with a smile of love. 

I stood half hidden by a pillar, feasting my eyes upon 
the sight that was so dear to me, and absorbed in it to 
the complete exclusion of everything else. 

Somebody touched my arm. I turned and saw Hard- 
ing standing beside me with a cynical smile upon his 
face. 

“ This is worse than I expected,” he said in bantering 
tones ; I never thought that you of all men would have 
succumbed so quickly ; but I have been watching you 
for the last ten minutes, and I’ll swear you have never 
taken your eyes off him for the whole of that time.” 

“Him! About whom are you speaking?” I asked, 
impatient at the interruption. 

He laughed. “ What innocence ! What blissful ig- 
norance ! As if there could be anybody here this morn- 
ing worth looking at save the man of gold! Your 
instinct did not deceive you. You are quite right in 


mauleverer’s millions. 


23 


supposing that shabby old gentleman sitting beside the 
pretty girl in navy blue to be Mauleverer the million 
aire.” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me — ” I began in dismay. 

‘‘ That the spectacled gentleman in the gray coat and 
the venerable felt hat is Mauleverer ? Yes, I do. But 
surely you knew it beforehand ; for you have looked at 
nobody else since I joined you, and you were so com- 
pletely absorbed in studying him that you never saw 
me till I touched your arm.” 

From the height of joy I felt myself suddenly plunged 
into the icy-cold depths of despair. The man beside 
whom the girl I loved was sitting was none other than 
the millionaire himself. It seemed as though a great 
gulf had been instantaneously opened up between us. 
I could still see every feature of the dear face, but she 
herself had been removed to a distance from which she 
was inaccessible to me. 

Harding eyed me closely. 

“ You do not look so well as you did when you came 
into the grounds,” he said presently. “ Are you un- 
well ? Let us go back to the seat where you met me. 
We shall see them pass when they go to the hotel.” 

He put his arm in mine, and led me away. I made 
no resistance ; and yet I felt as though I were leaving 
the best part of my life behind me. By an effort I 
nerved myself, and said, 

“ Do you know anything of the lady who was with 
him ?” 

“ I know that she is wonderfully good-looking, — quite 
the prettiest girl on the ground, — and that he seems de- 
voted to her. But we shall soon know all about their 


24 


mauleverer’s millions. 


relationsliip, if there is one, and whether she is or is not 
likely to carry off the grand prize. Trust the matrons 
of Scarborough to find out everything on that subject.” 

I sat silent and perturbed. The thought that was 
Uppermost in my mind was that I had only found her 
again in order to lose her altogether. 

And even as I was chewing the cud of this bitter re- 
fiection, Harding lightly touched my arm and whispered 
in my ear something which I could not catch. I looked 
up quickly, and there, apf reaching us at a distance of not 
more than a dozen feet, were Mauleverer and the girl 
whom I loved. Suddenly she saw me. The pallor which 
I had noticed on her face disappeared, and a rich blush 
dyed her cheeks ; for a moment her eyes met mine, and 
she bowed, with a smile that made the sunshine itself 
seem dark beside it, and then she was gone. 

I had seen nothing but her as she passed me. Her 
companion, so far as any consciousness of mine told me 
anything, might have faded into space at the moment 
when she smiled upon me. But Harding had noticed 
him. He turned to me with a look of bewilderment. 

“ So you know the young lady, do you, my quiet 
friend ? You ought to be proud of having produced 
that scowl of jealousy which I saw upon Mr. Maulever- 
er’s face just now. It is not every day, you know, that 
a man of your age is allowed the privilege of running, 
even in a losing race, against a millionaire.” 


mauleverer’s millions. 


25 


CHAPTER III. 

DAISY. 

I WENT to my room at the hotel in a state of agitation 
which I found it difficult to conceal from Harding. I 
had seen the woman who exercised so strange a fascina- 
tion over me — but under what circumstances ! She was 
the companion of a man whose incredible wealth made 
him a creature apart. I am as little inclined as most 
men to worship mere money, but I had not needed the 
cynical advice of Harding to grasp the bitter truth that 
in these times there is a great gulf fixed between the 
rich and the poor. I myself, it is true, was not poor. 
My father had left me in possession of a moderate com- 
petence ; but in comparison with the fabulous riches of 
Mauleverer my little income was shrivelled into abso- 
lute nothingness. 

Moreover there was the bitter fact that I did not 
know the relationship between her and the millionaire. 
Might it not be possible that, like many other men who 
have reached the age when mind and body alike are 
beginning to decay, he cherished the illusion that he 
might renew his youth by uniting his own life to that 
of a beautiful girl ? 

And yet, as I vexed myself with these ideas, I could 
not subdue the joy I felt at the thought that I had at 
last found a clue to my unknown love, and that at this 
very moment I was under the roof which also sheltered 
her. On this point I was indebted to Harding for my 


26 


matjleverer’s millions. 


knowleoge. He had speedily discovered from one of 
his friends that Mauleverer had been accompanied by 
the young lady when he returned to the Grand Hotel. 
To discover her name and the relationship in which she 
stood to the millionaire was now Harding’s mission. 

■ Whilst he was pursuing this congenial task among 
- the gossips of the saloon, I retired to my own room and 
sat there wrapped in uneasy contemplation. By and 
by I was roused by a tap at the door, and thinking only 
that Harding had brought me some information, I called 
to him to enter. I turned to greet him with an eager 
question, when, to my amazement, I saw that, instead of 
Harding, Mauleverer himself was standing before me. 

His appearance was so great a surprise that I was 
only able to face him in silence, while he on his part 
showed a certain amount of embarrassment and even 
shyness. He stood before me, a withered, prematurely- 
aged man, with pale wrinkled face, and dim eyes that 
looked out feebly through the spectacles he habitually 
wore. It was difficult to conceive that this forlorn-look- 
ing creature, who bore all the marks of decrepitude and 
suffering, was the man whom everybody in this gay 
world of Scarborough was envying. As I looked at 
him I forgot all about his millions, and only saw in him 
the feeble valetudinarian to whom existence itself must 
be a penance. 

He spoke at last, and when he did so my heart leaped 
with joy, for I thought I detected in the mild sweet ac- 
cents of his voice something that reminded me of my 
companion of the railway-carriage. There was a grave 
smile on his face, too, that redeemed its careworn ugli- 
ness. 


mauleverer’s millions. 


27 


‘‘You will forgive me, sir, for intruding upon you,” 
he said with a shy hesitation, by which I was both sur- 
prised and touched. “ I did not know, when my niece 
recognized you this morning, that you had rendered her 
so great a service as that which she has described to me. 
I am very grateful. I ought to have been there to pro- 
tect her ; but, unluckily for me, I was laid up here with 
the throat-complaint that so constantly troubles me. I 
have come to thank you in her name and my own.” 

His niece ! That was the first thing I grasped as he 
spoke. Then at least we were not rivals! I am afraid 
that Mauleverer must have thought my conduct rather 
peculiar. When he held out his hand at the close of 
the little speech I have just repeated, I grasped it with 
a fervor that made him wince, but I found it even more 
difficult than he had done to express myself in words. 

Of course I answered him that any man would have 
been only too proud to have had the opportunity of 
saving his niece ; and I asked eagerly if she had suffered 
from the shock of the encounter at York, telling him 
that I thought she had looked pale when I met her on 
the Promenade. 

He regarded me steadily for a moment with his mild 
eyes. I could see that he did not altogether relish my 
comments on her appearance. 

“ Thank you very much,” he said with his old-fash- 
ioned precision of speech ; “ Miss Stancliffe did not suf- 
fer at all from her journey, owing to your kindness ; 
but I am sorry to say she has been an absolute prisoner 
ever since then through my illness. She is an excellent 
nurse, and when I am ill, as I too often am, unfortu- 
nately, she allows no one else to wait upon me.” 


28 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


And then he explained how it had happened that she 
had been travelling without male escort when I met 
her. He had come down to Scarborough merely to en- 
gage rooms, intending to return to London for his niece. 
But a sudden blast of the treacherous east wind had 
laid him low, and instead of going back to town in order 
to escort Miss Stancliffe (“ What a pretty name !” I 
thought to myself) he had been compelled to telegraph 
to her to ask her to join him at once in her favorite ca- 
pacity of nurse. 

By this time we had both of us recovered our self- 
possession and were chatting almost on the footing of 
old friends. He took up a book which was lying on my 
table. It was a volume of Wordsworth. 

“You are fond of poetry? So is Daisy — Miss Stan- 
cliffe. She reads a great deal now, and I often get the 
advantage of her reading. You see we have very few 
friends. We are strangers in England, my niece and I.” 

“ I don’t suppose you will have to wait very long 
before you have an abundant supply of friends,” I ven- 
tured to remark, with a smile. 

He answered me quite seriously and simply. “ I do 
not know. There are so many things to be considered. 
One must be very careful in a place like England — so I 
have been told. Sometimes I think we made a mistake 
in coming home : we might have been happier over 
there.” 

He rose to go, again holding out his hand. 

“Excuse me,” I said, “but with your permission I 
should like to tell you who and what I am.” And then 
I hurriedly told him my name, and how I had been 
brought up, the only child of my father, on our little prop- 


mauleverer’s millions. 


29 


erty in Hampshire — a mere cottage with a few score 
acres of ground around it ; how I had begun the study 
of medicine, but had been compelled to abandon it owing 
to my father’s long illness, when my services as a nurse 
were in constant requisition ; and how his death six 
months before had left me my own master — and quite 
alone in the world. 

He heard me with courteous attention, his pale eyes 
fixed on my face all the time I was speaking, and when 
I finished my little autobiography with the account of 
my father’s death, he pressed my hand sympathetically, 
but all he said was, 

“ Ah ! I see that, like my niece, you have had expe- 
rience in humoring the weakness and attending to the 
wants of feeble old age. Good-day to you, sir. I hope 
you will forgive me for troubling you with this visit.” 

And then he went out of the room with that quiet 
meek manner of his, that contrasted so strangely with 
the reputation he enjoyed among the people around 
him ; and I was left alone to dream as Alnaschar himself 
never did. 

It was not until the next morning that I saw either 
Mauleverer or his niece again. Harding had not been 
idle during the day. He too had ascertained the relation- 
ship between the millionaire and the young lady ; he had 
even learned her surname. But in addition to this he 
had been told by one of his informants that, after all, 
there was a little doubt as to whether Miss Stancliffe 
was in reality the niece of Mauleverer. ‘‘ Tliere is some 
mystery about her,” he remarked carelessly, not know- 
ing how deeply I was interested in her. 

I had taken a liking to Harding. His cheery cynicism 


30 


mauleverer’s millions. 


acted as a wholesome corrective to my boyish optimism, 
and I had found in his talk at the dinner-table and in 
the smoking-room almost the only enjoyment I had yet 
tasted in Scarborough. I felt that it was due to him 
that I should give him some explanation of my ac- 
quaintance with Miss Stancliffe ; but I was careful to 
say nothing of the scene at the railway-station at York. 

“ Well, my boy,” he said, when I had finished my re- 
cital, which included an account of Mauleverer’s visit to 
my room, “ all I can say is that you are deuced ly lucky. 
Why, you have made friends with the prettiest girl and 
the richest man in England! It is always 3 ^ou quiet 
dogs who carry everything before you. Don’t be sur- 
prised, however, if I try to cut you out.” 

And so next day, when again the glorious sunshine 
tempted the most delicate out of doors, I not only saw 
my love, but spoke to her, held her hand in mine, looked 
into her eyes, and felt that the beautiful face was lighted 
up with smiles that were meant for me and for me 
alone. 

Ah, my love, my love 1 As I look back upon that 
happy day when first our real friendship began ; when I 
see you in my mind’s eye as you were then, with the 
bright light of youth and freedom from care shining in 
your countenance ; when I hear once more through the 
years that have passed the pure melodious voice and the 
sweet laugh of innocence and joy ; and when I remember 
all that has happened since — the mystery and the trag- 
edy, the pain, the sin, the sorrow, the cruel suffering and 
bitter degradation through which you have been called 
upon to pass — I can scarcely realize the fact that you and 
that lovely laughing girl are one and the same. It was 


mauleverer’s millions. 3i 

surely in anotlier world that you and I walked apart from 
all our fellows, on that day never to be effaced from 
my memory, on which we first sat side by side as friends ! 

I never saw that of which Harding told me after- 
wards — the undisguised astonishment and envy which 
were exhibited by the frequenters of the Spa saloon 
when I was seen in the enjoyment of this familiar inter- 
course with the millionaire and his beautiful niece. I 
have told how people had begun to take note of my 
restless march up and down the promenade during those 
days when I was still searching for my unknown love. 
Ho doubt I had been made the subject of mild jests, and 
perhaps some grotesque romance had been invented re- 
garding me, for there is no place like Scarborough in 
the season for the production of fictions of this kind. 
And now, I alone, of all that envious throng, had the 
privilege of the friendship of the man of millions ! It 
was hardly wonderful that there should have been almost 
as much of gossip and tittle-tattle regarding me as there 
was about Mauleverer himself. 

It mattered nothing and less than nothing to me. 
Hay, for the moment, I can honestly aver that I had 
absolutely forgotten all about Mauleverer’s wealth. He 
might have been as poor as his outward appearance in- 
dicated, for all I cared during that first blissful season of 
love upon which I had now entered. 

Daisy had something more than her beauty to com- 
mend her to me. That was rare enough, as everybody 
was ready to admit. Her features, it is true, were not of 
the ‘‘ faultily faultless” description : some found the chin 
too massive, or the forehead too square, or the nose too 
long or too short. I could not have argued the question 


32 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


with these people even if I had wished to do so. I could 
no more have analyzed that proud sweet face, on which 
at times lay a strange shadow of reserve, mingled with 
the bright frankness by which it was usually lighted up, 
than I could have weighed the pale moonbeams which 
made the earth glorious by night. All that I knew was 
that I had never seen a face like it, and that to me it 
was as the magnet towards which my whole life was to 
be henceforth drawn. 

But all the world could share with me the privilege 
of - gazing on the lovely face. That which was mine 
alone was the intimacy which enabled me to know that 
her mind was as beautiful as her countenance. For from 
the first she was frank and unreserved with me on all 
points save one. I found her as pure and simple and 
unsophisticated as a child, yet with a woman’s sympathy 
with the nobler aspirations of a man, a woman’s quicks 
ness in reading my thoughts, and a woman’s tact in deal- 
ing with my various moods. 

On that first morning on which we were together 
there was a certain shyness mingled with her cordiality. 
I could see by the troubled expression which occasion- 
ally passed over her face when her eyes by chance met 
mine that she was thinking of our first strange meeting 
and of the unpleasant incident associated with it. But 
though it was constantly in my mind as well as hers, no 
reference was made to it on either side. 

She was full of wonder and admiration at the scene 
around her. The week she had already spent in Scar- 
borough had been passed in the sick-chamber of her 
uncle, and all was now new to her. 

1^0, I never went out,” she said, in reply to a 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


33 


question of mine. “I should have liked to do so, but I 
could not leave him.” She indicated Mauleverer, who 
was sitting on the other side of her, surveying the 
brilliant scene before him with an air of interest. 

Besides, there were various reasons why it was not well 
for me to be out until my uncle could accompany me.” 

“How strange,” I said, “ that we should actually have 
been in the same hotel all the time ! I have looked for 
you everywhere.” 

Probably there was more in the tone of my voice than 
in my words themselves. At all events, she blushed 
when I spoke, and made no direct response. 

“ Are there many places in England as beautiful as 
this? You know we are only colonists. I have seen 
hardly anything of England. It is not three months 
since we landed, and I have spent nearly all that time 
in a dreadful hotel in Bond Street.” 

“ You will find many beautiful places in England,” 
I replied, “but Scarborough has a charm of its own. 
You would need to go abroad to find anything that 
really resembled the scene now before us.” 

“ How different it all is from our life in Australia ! 
You know we lived up-country. My uncle was always 
attending to his sheep ; and it was very seldom that I 
was allowed to see a town, or to have any pleasure but 
a long ride by myself.” 

“Were you not at school?” I asked. 

“Yes, but that was long before — ” she hesitated, 
“ before I came to live with him. Since then I have 
had to trust to poor dear Mrs. Cawthorne. She was my 
governess, you know, and almost my only lady- friend. 
I am afraid I am fearfully ignorant.” 

.3 


34 


mauleveree'^ millions. 


“ Kay,” I cried with boyish enthusiasm. Have you 
not been telling me of the books you have read? You 
have made me ashamed of myself, you have read so 
much more than I have done. Was it Mrs. Cawthorne 
who led you to study Herbert Spencer ?” 

She blushed, and said, Ko, that was an idea of my 
otvn.” 

“And are you going to stop long in England?” I 
ventured to inquire of her. 

“ Oh, yes : have you not heard ? My uncle has bought 
a house in Yorkshire. He means to remain here, I 
hardly know why.” She glanced round, and saw that 
the millionaire was slumbering gently. With a loving 
hand she drew the light overcoat across his chest, and 
placed a handkerchief round his throat. The day was 
hot enough, no doubt, but Mauleverer was still an invalid. 

“ I was saying,” she continued, “ that we are going 
to live here, and that I hardly know why. 1 am sure 
we were happier in Australia. But I think he was over- 
persuaded.” 

She seemed as though she had something more to 
say ; but whatever it was it remained unsaid. 

“ And where is this house that your uncle has bought ?” 
I asked with interest. 

“It is at Great Lorton, about thirty miles from here, 
I believe, among the wolds. I have never seen it, but 
he has, and he says it is very old and beautiful.” 

I had heard of the house as one of the finest relics of 
domestic architecture left in Yorkshire, which is rich in 
such remains ; but I had not even the faintest concep- 
tion of its whereabouts in “ the broad county.” 

And so our talk ran on until all at once the band 


mauleverer’s millions. 


35 


ceased to play, and to onr amazement we discovered that 
the luncheon hour had arrived, and that the stream of 
loungers was already pouring towards the gates. 

I offered Mr. Mauleverer my arm ; for he looked very 
worn and frail. He accepted it with thanks that were 
out of all proportion to the favor. But if he had been 
even more exuberant in his expressions of gratitude I 
should have counted them as nothing compared with the 
look of pleasure I detected on the face of his niece. 
Never, surely, was a simple act of every-day courtesy 
more richly repaid. 

This is not, alas ! a love-story. It deals with otlier 
things besides love ; and so I shall not dwell upon the 
happy day ^ that followed — by far the happiest I have 
ever known in my placid, uneventful life. Day after 
day found me by Daisy’s side ; and I was the recognized 
attendant of her and the millionaire whenever they ap- 
peared in the Saloon grounds. Once or twice I accom- 
panied them on drives to neighboring places of interest ; 
and by and by, when Mr. Mauleverer’s health improved, 
we went for long walks together. I never saw Daisy 
during the whole of this time by herself. When her 
uncle could not leave the hotel she invariably remained 
with him. Many days of delightful companionship 
passed before I had my first chance of speaking to her 
alone. 

Even then the chance was brought about in a some- 
what ludicrous fashion. The “society papers” were 
now full of Mr. Mauleverer and his millions. I could 
not take up one of them in which I did not find his 
name. Now it was some wonderful story that was told 
about the magnificence with which Great Lorton Hall 


36 


mauleverer’s millions. 


was being furnished and otherwise prepared for his 
residence ; now it was a yacht which he had bouglit 
from the executors of a deceased duke, and wliich was 
being redecorated for his use in accordance with tlie 
traditions of tlie Arabian nights, rather than any more 
sober or prosaic precedents ; and now it was an elab- 
orate calculation of the number of guineas per hour 
which, by day and night, were being poured into the 
pockets of my friend. 

When I read these tales I found it veiy difficult to 
connect them with the plain, almost shabbily dressed, 
gentleman, who, although he had secured the best suite 
of rooms at the hotel, still lived in perfect simplicity of 
style, and gave no evidence either of the possession of 
wealth or the taste for extravagant expenditure which, 
if these tales were true, he undoubtedly had. I never, 
of course, made any reference to these newspaper para- 
graphs when I was with Mauleverer and his niece. 
Daisy, I was certain, knew nothing of them, and would 
have been revolted by their vulgarity; whilst I was 
strongly induced to suspect that the millionaire himself 
was equally ignorant. 

But if I put all this gossip aside as being probably 
nothing more than the concoction of imaginative penny- 
a-liners, it was taken very seriously by not a few of the 
people around us. The more Mauleverer and his mil- 
lions were talked about in the newspapers, indeed, the 
more wild most persons became to secure his acquaint- 
anceship. 

There was a lady staying at the Grand Hotel for 
whom I had conceived a strong aversion from the first, 
and who apparently regarded me with just as little favor 


mauleverer’s millions. 


sv 

as I showed her. Yet I had, as it turned our, great 
reason to be grateful to her. 

Mrs. Domville, the lady in question, was very big, 
very stout, with a flaming scarlet face, the color of 
which in its richness matched the ribbons and dresses 
she habitually wore. She was a constant attendant at 
those balls of which I have spoken, which are perhaps 
the most objectionable of all the features of life at 
Scarborough during the season. On these occasions she 
was invariably accompanied by her son and daughter, 
the former a weedy-looking youth of twenty, the latter 
big and bouncing like her mother, and handsome into 
the bargain, which is more than one could have said for 
Mrs. Domville herself. 

It happened that I had danced on one occasion with 
the daughter. It was when a ball was held in our own 
hotel, and I had been pressed into the service by an 
agonized master of the ceremonies, who found that the 
demand for dancing men far exceeded the supply. 
Miss Domville was not a person who cared to encourage 
the attentions of an unknown swain. Goodness knows 
that she had no reason to snub me on this account, for 
after our single dance I was quite ready to drop the 
acquaintance; but snub me she did, and her mother 
evidently encouraged her in doing so. 

I was not a little surprised therefore, when, chancing 
to meet Mrs. Domville one day in the hall of the hotel, 
I was saluted by her with a warmth that was more than 
usually friendly. 

“Ob, my dear Mr. Fenton, I am so pleased to see 
you again. What a time it is since we met ! Are you 
to be at the ball to-night ? Pray come and ask Arabella 


38 


MAULEVEREr’s MILLlOlfS. 


for the first waltz. Shall I tell her to engage herself 
for it ? Now I know how good-natured you are. You 
will never say No, I am sure.’’ 

Thus the magnificent creature ran on in a style which 
almost took my breath away. I did say “ No,” how- 
ever, and rather bluntly too. She was in no wise dis- 
concerted. 

“ By the way,” she said, “ I have a particular favor to 
ask of you. I see that you are acquainted with the 
Mauleverers. Now I am quite cei-tain that Mr. Maule- 
verer is the friend of a very dear friend of my own. I 
have heard so much about him, that I really must speak 
to him. So now 1 look to you to introduce me the next 
time we meet.” 

Mrs. Domville looked so formidable that it required 
some courage to show any hesitation in promising to 
gratify her wish. Nevertheless I did hesitate, for I 
knew that the promiscuous acquaintances Mr. Mauleverer 
had hitherto made in the hotel had apparently bored 
him. I was indeed not a little afraid that I myself was 
no exception to the rule. 

“ I think I must ask Mr. Mauleverer himself before I 
can promise to do that.” I replied, “ You know he is 
not in good health.” 

“ Then ask him now, for he is here.” 

I turned and saw Mauleverer and Daisy standing be- 
side me. The former had evidently heard his own name, 
and with the quiet simplicity and courtesy which were 
characteristic of the man he came forward. 

Mrs. Domville favored him with a courtesy which 
would have done credit to the Queen’s drawing-room. 
She looked as if she would have liked to kiss the rich 
man’s hand. 


mauleverer’s millions. 39 

^‘Forgive me, sir,” she said in a reverential manner 
that was quite new to her so far as my experience went ; 
“ I was asking our young friend Mr. Fenton to do me 
the honor of introducing me to you. I have been so 
anxious ever since 1 heard you were here to question 
you about an old friend of mine whom I think you 
once knew very intimately.” 

The millionaire looked puzzled, but he was listening 
with grave attention to the lady. 

“ Perhaps you are going down to the saloon,” con- 
tinued the latter. Ah then, if you would be so very 
kind as to permit me to walk with you I could explain 
what I mean.” 

“ By all means, madame,” responded the innocent old 
gentleman, and he turned to the door of the hotel 
closely attended by Mrs. Domville. Daisy and I fol- 
lowed them. 

“ Who is this woman, and what does she want with 
my uncle ?” she asked. 

“ She wants all Scarborough to see her walking with 
him on the promenade, I suppose,” I replied. 

Daisy looked at me with eyes of innocent wonder. 
She scarcely seemed to comprehend. 

“ I am vexed,” she said presently ; “ I hope we should 
have been all by ourselves, to-day at least.” 

‘‘ To-day ! Is there any special reason connected with 
to-day?” I asked. 

“ Yes,” she responded with a faint sigh. ‘‘ To-morrow 
our friends are coming, and I fear there will be no more 
pleasant mornings for us all, such as we have had lately.” 

‘‘Your friends!” I murmured, perplexed and dis- 
mayed. 


40 


mauleverer’s millions. 


“Yes, the only friends we have in England', Dr. 
Branksome and Mrs. Fosdjke. They are coming to- 
morrow in the yacht which I believe my uncle has 
bought.’’ 

Pain and jealousy tilled my heart. It seemed that 
those halcyon days which had brought so much of joy to 
me were at an end. 

“And will your new friends — I beg pardon, your old 
friends I ought to have said — make it impossible for you 
to see me any more ?” 

My tone was hard and constrained, but I could not 
help myself. She looked into my face a little doubt- 
fully, and then she withdrew her eyes quickly. I knew 
then that she had read the secret of my heart. I felt 
her arm trembling within my own. I forgot everything ; 
the shortness of our acquaintance, Mauleverer’s millions 
— no, I did think of them, and I cursed them bitterly 
as I saw in them a barrier between myself and my 
darling. But for those wretched millions I should have 
spoken there and then and learned my fate. Ah, how 
little I knew all that hung upon that moment of fatal 
indecision ! 

For the next instant it was too late to speak. The 
loud voice of Mrs. Domville was heard calling me to 
bring Miss Stancliffe to the place where she and Mr. 
Mauleverer was sitting, in order that she might introduce 
her weedy son to the rich man’s niece. 

I was forced to move, but as I did so I said with pas- 
sionate emphasis, “ You will not forget me, you will not 
drop me now because your other friends are coming?” 

“ How could you think that we should ?” she answer- 
ed with a laugh that was somewhat forced. “ Only I 


mauleverer’s millions. 


41 


fear it will be altogether different then/’ she added, 
“ and it has been a delightful time — has it not 

For the rest of the morning I was doomed to listen to 
the vulgar chatter of the woman who had^ thus, almost 
forcibly, laid hands not only upon Mauleverer himself, 
but upon my darling. But when we parted in the hall 
of the hotel there was an expression on Daisy’s face that 
did something to assuage my jealous misery. 


CHAPTER lY. 

THE GOLDEN HAWK. 

My bedroom commanded a fine view of the sea, and 
when I looked out of my window on the morning follow- 
ing the incident with Mrs. Domville, the first thing that 
attracted my attention was a magnificent schooner-yacht 
lying at anchor some two miles from the shore. It was 
the largest and most beautiful vessel of the kind I had 
ever seen, and I examined it with interest through a 
powerful field-glass which I had in my room. There is 
no sight more attractive to the lover of the sea than a 
fine vessel, whose lines bear witness to her power of rid- 
ing over the waves. What a Derby favorite is to the 
lover of horseflesh, a yacht is to the sailor. 

This, however, was no common yacht, and I wondered 
to m.yself to whom it belonged and whence it had come 
to delight the eyes of the people of Scarborough. Early 
as it was, the attention of people on shore had already 
been drawn to the stately vessel in the bay, and small 


42 


MArLEVERER’s MILLIONS. 


cobbles laden with curious sightseers were being rowed 
out to her. Presently I saw one of the yacht’s boats, a 
large gig, coming rapidly from the vessel to the shore, 
and through my glass I was able to perceive that in 
addition to her crew she carried three passengers — all 
men. 

Such an event as the arrival of a yacht in the bay 
always furnishes food for gossip during the season at 
Scarborough, and many were the inquiries put forth at 
the breakfast-table that morning with regard to the 
ownership of this magnificent schooner. It was not, 
however, till Harding made his appearance that any light 
was thrown upon the subject. 

^‘Seen your friend’s boat?” he said to me as he 
dropped into his usual chair by my side. “It does 
more credit to his taste than I should have expected.” 

“And is that Mr. Mauleverer’s yacht?” I asked in 
surprise. 

“ Yes, so I am told. It is the ‘ Golden Hawk,’ which 
was built for the Duke of Cairngorm just before he died. 
There isn’t a finer boat afloat.” 

“ And pray how have you learned all this ?” I said, 
feeling rather nettled at the fact that he should know so 
much more than I did of the affairs of my friends. 

“ Easily enough, my good fellow ! Did you not see 
the party from the yacht come up to the hotel — one tall 
and two short ? A sailor came up with them, and I 
made it my business to ask him the name of the vessel 
and its owner.” 

“ And the three gentlemen — where are they ?” 

“ So far as I know,” answered Harding, “ they are 
with Mauleverer.” 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


43 


These, then, were the friends of whom Daisy had 
spoken to me. A restless feeling of jealousy filled my 
heart. When the hour at which the millionaire and his 
niece usually made their appearance in the hall of the 
hotel — where they invariably found me in attendance — 
had arrived, there were no signs of them. I waited 
with a lover’s impatience, not daring either to leave the 
hall or to go to Mauleverer’s sitting-room to make any 
inquiry about them. How slowly the minutes passed, 
and what a change seemed to have come over the whole 
scene since the previous day, when, at least, I had re- 
joiced in a monopoly of the friendship of the girl I 
loved ! 

Only a lover who has himself suffered from the pains 
of jealousy can enter into the mood which possessed me 
as I waited in that familiar hall, conscious of the fact 
that others knew why I was waiting, and perhaps re- 
joiced in my manifest discomfiture. At last — fully an 
hour after the usual time for their appearance — I heard 
a movement in the gallery above me that filled me with 
hope. Immediately afterwards Mr. Mauleverer appeared 
descending the staircase between two gentlemen. One 
of these was a prim little man, very neatly dressed, with 
handsome, clean-cut features, and eyes that looked 
sharply round through t\\Q go\di-v\mmQdi pince-nez which 
he wore. The other was a person of much sturdier 
build and rougher cast of countenance. Short in stat- 
ure, he was tliick-set and clumsy in frame, whilst his 
features were coarse and harsh. He might have been a 
seafaring man, I thought, and I concluded that perhaps 
he was the captain of the Golden Hawk. 

Mauleverer was chatting with his friends with a 


44 


mauleverer’s millions. 


brightness which I had not seen him show before during 
my brief acquaintance with him. It was evident that 
lie was greatly pleased to have met them again. I 
looked behind him, but there was no sign of Daisy, nor 
of the third stranger of whose arrival I had heard. I 
believe that in his absorption in his new friends the mil- 
lionaire would have passed me unnoticed if I had not 
myself addressed him. For an instant he regarded me 
with his mild eyes almost as though he had forgotten 
my identity. But in a moment he recovered himself 
and greeted me with his usual kindly courtesy. 

“ I hope you have had a pleasant morning on the 
Spa,” he said. He had no conception of how my morn- 
ing had been spent. ‘‘Let me introduce my friend, 
Mr. Fosdyke.” He indicated the gentleman with the 
pince-nez, who bowed elaborately on hearing my name. 
The rough-looking man, against whom I already felt 
prejudiced, hung back a foot or two, and Mauleverer 
made no reference to him. I could see, however, that 
the man was staring hard at me with anything but an 
amiable expression on his face. 

“ And Miss Stancliffe,” I ventured to say — “ I hope 
she is well this morning.” 

“ Oh, quite well, thank you ; but she is occupied, owing 
to the arrival of our friends.” And then, with a pleas- 
ant bow, he went on, attended by his two companions. 

I was vaguely conscious of the fact that when I had 
mentioned Daisy’s name, it was not only the rough- 
looking man with the hard 'and resolute face who had 
favored me with a searching stare. From behind the 
glittering phice-nez of Fosdyke a pair of keen eyes had 
at that moment been fixed upon me, and I cursed the 


mauleverer’s millions. 


45 


ridiculous inability to preserve an unmoved countenance, 
from which I was conscious that I suffered whenever 
Daisy was mentioned. Henceforward I felt I should, 
at least, be closely watched in all my intercourse with 
her. 

But where was she? Sharp, beyond the power of 
words to describe it, was the pain which gnawed at my 
heart as I thought of her even at this moment engaged 
in confidential talk with this unknown friend. Was he 
old or young ? Who was he ? What was he ? I struck 
my heel savagely upon the pavement of the hall as 1 
asked myself- these questions. 

And even as I did so she appeared. I had only time 
to observe that her companion was unusually tall, and 
that he seemed to have passed the limits of middle-age. 
In another instant my hand had taken hers, and I was 
feasting my eyes upon her dear face. 

But what was the change that I saw there ? It was 
as beautiful as ever ; but a shadow of some kind had 
passed over it since we. parted on the previous day. I 
have spoken before of that veil of reserve which once or 
twice when we were together on the promenade had 
spread itself over her features. It was the same thing 
that I saw now, though it was more pronounced and real. 
This shadow of trouble, or timidity, or doubt — I could 
not tell which — was at least no CJ-eation of my own im- 
iigination. 

Her smile was kind as it had ever been ; but I ob- 
served that her face was flushed, and it was with mani- 
fest embarrassment that she turned to her companion 
and said, ‘‘ This is Mr. Fenton.” 

Flad they been speaking of me before ? This was my 


46 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


first thought when I heard her words. Tlie next mo- 
ment I was conscious of a courteous and even friendly 
greeting from her companion. I looked up ; for although 
I myself arn tall, this man towered far above me. I 
looked into what I felt at once was one of the most 
powerful faces I had ever seen — a face that still retained 
traces of manly beauty, though its owner was evidently 
verging upon threescore. The wide open forehead 
appeared to indicate benevolence of character as well as 
intellectual superiority ; the eyes were grave, but frank. 
Every feature of the face was prepossessing except the 
mouth. I thought the straight thin lips were out of 
harmony with the general aspect of the man. 

“ Miss Stanclifie has told me of her acquaintance with 
you,” he said with a genial smile, which showed his 
beautiful white teeth to advantage, “ and, like the rest 
of her friends, I feel grateful to you for the service 
you rendered her.” 

He put his hand familiarly on her arm. My dear,” 
he safd, we shall none of us fail to do justice to Mr. 
Fenton.” 

I thought there was a trace of fear in the look which 
Daisy turned upon him as he uttered these words. 

‘‘ You came by the schooner I see in the bay this 
morning ?” I said, chiefly for the sake of sajdng some- 
thing and thus prolonging the interview. 

‘‘Yes, sir, we did,” he replied. ‘‘ You have seen the 
Golden Hawk ? A fine boat, and one of which I think 
this young lady will feel very proud as its mistress.” 

He looked down upon her with a protecting smile. I 
saw that she pressed closer to him as he spoke, as though 
responding to some unuttered sentiment of affection. 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


47 


And yet as she did so her eyes sought mine. I could 
not interpret their expression ; but I was clearly con- 
scious of the fact that trouble was in store for us. 

I could hardly believe, however, that the trouble was 
likely to come from this man, with his powerful and 
commanding countenance, his polished manner, and his 
genial air. 

“By the way,” he said, “I think this little girl has 
forgotten to perform the whole of her duty. She has 
not told you my name. I am Dr. Branksome.” I 
bowed, and he smiled anew. “ Has Miss Stanclilfe not 
told you all about my connection with her he con- 
tinued. “I see she has not done so. Well, I suppose a 
young lady who finds herself in Scarborough for the 
first time in her life has something better to do than to 
tell tales about the old fogies whom she has known at 
the other side of the world. Eh, my dear, is that not 
it 

She might have been his daughter to judge by the easy 
familiarity with which he pinched her ear as he spoke. 
Daisy still had the troubled smile upon her face she had 
worn when she last looked at me. She did not speak. 
It almost seemed as though she could not have spoken if 
she would. 

“ I see I shall have my own story to tell, Mr. Fenton,” 
he continued, in his full rich voice. “ You are sur- 
prised, perhaps, to see me on such very friendly terms 
with Miss Stancliffe. But you would not be surprised 
if you knew that she lived under my roof for more than 
twelve years of her life, — from four to sixteen, — and that 
I during all that time she honestly believed me to be her 
father. A strange story, sir, I can see that is in your 


48 


mauleverer’s millions. 


mind ; but it is a true story also. So now you under- 
stand how it is that if Daisy has an uncle in Mr. Maulev- 
erer, she has a father in me.” 

My first feeling on hearing him make this statement 
was one of incredulity. I had heard her so often speak 
with loving gratitude of her uncle that I felt certain that 
if she had really regarded tliis new-comer as her father, 
she would have spoken of him also. I remembered, too, 
the trouble that was manifest on her face when she had 
told me on the previous day of the approaching arrival 
of her friends. It was inconceivable, I thought, that she 
would have felt this trouble if she had really entertained 
a daughter’s love for Branksome. But, however this 
might be, there was no doubt now that she was unre- 
servedly under the sway of his infiuence. She re- 
sponded to his speech with a look of gratitude and affec- 
tion, and stood quite passive while his hand still rested 
on her arm. 

The situation was becoming embarrassing. I did not 
know in what words to repl}^ to Dr. Branksome’s state- i 
ment about Daisy. I contented myself with a feeble | 
inquiry as to whether they were going to join the com- j 
pany on the promenade. | 

“We are going aboard the yacht for luncheon,” re- 
plied the doctor. “Miss Stancliffe has never been 
aboard the boat yet, and she is naturally anxious to see 
it. By the way, Daisy, why should we not ask Mr. 
Fenton to favor us with his company? I dare say he 
has nothing better to do this morning, and if he is in- 
terested in yachting he will certainly be pleased with the 
Golden Hawk.” 

There is no need to say witjlx what joy^ns e?!gerness I 


mauleverer’s millions. 


49 


i 

1 

I 


responded to the invitation. What puzzled me, however, 
was the way in whicli it was received by Daisy. She 
knit her brows for a moment as though trying to solve 
some knotty problem in her own mind. And then her 
face grew clear again, and without a word she went for- 
ward by the side of Branksome. 

We found that the gig of the yacht was waiting for us 
at the landing-stage. Mr. Mauleverer and his two com- 
panions had gone on board in one of the ordinary fish- 
ing-boats, leaving the small gig, with its cushioned seats 
and neatly-dressed crew, for Daisy’s accommodation. 

There was a pleasant novelty for both of us in the 
situation as we sat there on either side of Branksome, 
who steered the boat. The oars of the four men who 
were rowing rose and fell with the precision of clock- 
work, and the light little craft was quickly urged over 
the placid waters of the bay towards the spot where 
the stately vessel lay in the full blaze of the sunshine. 
The cloud had passed from Daisy’s face now. She was 
smiling as brightly as she had been wont to do during 
those happy days when we sat together beside the 
saloon ; but I could not avoid a dim consciousness of 
the fact that most of her smiles were given to Brank- 
some rather than to me. 

]S^ever had I seen a more beautiful spectacle of its 
kind than that which I witnessed when I stepped upon 
the white deck of the yacht. The vessel was of great 
size — probably of not less than six hundred tons dis- 
placement. She had auxiliary steam-power, but the 
long sweep of her spars, the fine rake of her three masts, 
showed that it was to her sail-power that she chiefly 
trusted. Everything on board was in that exquisite 


4 


50 


MAULEVEEER S MILLIONS. 


state of cleanliness which is never seen save on board 
of a man-of-war or a first-class yacht. The decks were 
as white as a well-scrubbed kitchen table ; the brass of 
the bolt'pins, the binnacle, the two carronades forward 
shone in the sunshine like burnished gold. So did the 
gilding on the moulding of the deck-houses. Some 
luxurious lounging-chairs and soft rugs were scattered 
about in the stern of the vessel ; whilst a smart quarter- 
master, in proper yacht uniform, kept watch in the 
ship’s waist. Everything was in keeping with the 
wealth of its owner. 

Daisy gave a cry of genuine delight when she sur- 
veyed^ the deck, and gazed up at the towering masts 
and rigging, which rose to a giddy height above her. 
She seemed to put ofi the weight of years in this at- 
mosphere, and ran, or rather danced along the deck like 
a child, till she came to the door of the after-housu. 
Then she stopped, raised her hands in wonder, and called 
me to her side. 

The interior of this beautiful little room was indeed 
“ a sight to see.” The walls were panelled in old leather 
of a peculiar shade of orange, with rich designs in dead 
gold embossed upon it. Here and there was a tiny 
niche in which an exquisite bronze statuette was placed ; 
and now and again the fiat surface of the panels was 
broken by an old Venetian mirror, or a silver lamp of 
antique design. Curtains of some material of delicate 
texture hung in graceful folds by the side of the 
windows, the glass of which had a subdued tint that 
harmonized with the color of the walls. The furniture 
of the room was in keeping with the decorations. There 
were cabinets, richly carved, and couches covered with 


mauleverer’s millions. 


51 


oriental embroideries. Chairs, tables, rugs and stove — 
all gave evidence of a cultivated taste and a boundless 
wealth. 

“ Did you ever see anything so lovely cried Daisy, 
with all a young girl’s delight in the beauty before her. 
“ Who will use this room ?” 

Branksome laughed heartily. “ My dear,” he said, 
“ every room on board is yours — this included. But 
your boudoir is down below, and, as a matter of fact, I 
believe the intention of the Duke of Cairngorm was to 
make this his smoking-room.” 

“ Oh, how shameful !” cried the girl. ‘‘ Surely a less 
beautiful room than this might do for people who want 
to smoke.” 

He looked at me with a broad smile upon his pleasant 
countenance at this ebullition of feminine feeling. I 
thought now that I had wronged him altogether in 
pronouncing against his mouth. All his features were 
in harmony, and I inwardly decided that he was one of 
the most fascinating men I had ever met with. 

At that moment Mr. Mauleverer came on deck. He 
looked slightly surprised at seeing me there, but greeted 
me with cordial courtesy. It was evidently of Daisy, 
however, that he was chiefly thinking. 

“ Do you like the Golden Hawk, my darling ?” he 
said, in tones which showed that even he felt some of 
the pleasurable excitement incident to the first intro- 
duction to a new toy. “ I think the doctor deserves our 
thanks for having secured so beautiful a boat for us. 
What should we have done without him ?” 

“ Quite as well as you have done with him, I reckon, 
Mauleverer,” replied the doctor. Don’t give me any 


62 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


credit for buying this ship. I heard it was for sale 
quite by accident, and of course when I saw it I felt 
it would be the very thing for you. But it was our 
friend Ben, there, who really settled the matter. I 
don’t know anything about shipping, whilst he knows 
everything.” 

He pointed as he spoke to the man whose appearance 
I had liked so little when I saw him descending the 
stairs of the hotel by the side of the millionaire. Even 
now, when in recognition of Branksome’s words he 
tried to look pleasant, I thought his face a peculiarly 
evil one. 

‘‘ Oh, Flinter is well up in shipping, as we have all oc- 
casion to know,” said Mauleverer. “ But come, Daisy, 
you have not yet seen your palace below, and luncheon 
will soon be ready.” 

We all descended the broad winding stairs of the 
cabin companion-way, and once again Daisy’s irrepressi- 
ble cries of delight broke forth. It would have been 
difficult indeed for any one to restrain his admiration 
for that sumptuous interior. There were state-rooms 
furnished in delicate shades of color, decorated with 
works of art of priceless value, and fitted with every 
comfort and every luxury that the traveller could de- 
sire; there was a dining-saloon in which the stamped- 
leather decorations of the smoking-room on deck were 
reproduced, but in a different color. It was difficult to 
remember that we were on board a ship. This noble 
apartment looked as though it had been transferred 
bodily from some Yenetian palace. There was a saloon, 
spacious, airy, elegant, in which the embroidered-silk 
panels of the walls vied with the covering of the couches, 


mauleveeer’s millioks. 

and sumptuous carpets in the soft pile of which the foot 
sank an inch deep ; and there was a boudoir in which 
the beauty and magnificence of this fairy palace seemed 
to have culminated. When we reached it I thought 
Daisy’s face turned pale, as though she were almost 
frightened by the splendor of which she was now the 
mistress. In my own heart there was a heavy weight 
of pain. The more clearly the riches of Mauleverer 
were made apparent to me, the greater seemed to be 
the gulf by which I was cut off from him and all be- 
longing to him. 

We had not yet seen everything, however, that was to 
be seen on board this wonderful ship. When we left 
the boudoir, a short gangway, the walls of which were 
covered with green plush and glittered with the refiected 
light of mirrors, led us to a door which Mr. Mauleverer 
discovered was locked. 

“ What have we here ?” he said, turning to Dr. Brank- 
some. 

“ Oh ! there you have the other side of the picture,” 
was the reply. ‘‘ You know, perhaps, that the old Duke 
had been in the navy in his youth, and that up to the 
end of his days he was a terribly severe disciplinarian. 
It seems that he always insisted upon having a punish- 
ment-cell made in his yachts, and I was told that he had 
even been known to confine his own sons when they 
happened to offend him.” 

And is this the cell asked Mauleverer, pointing to. 
the locked door. 

“It lies beyond it,” said the doctor. He produced a 
small key and opened the door. It showed us a con- 
tinuation of the gangway; but now the walls of the 


54 


MAtTLEVEREE’s MILLIONS. 


narrow passage were utterly without ornament. I 
placed my hand upon them, and found that they were 
lined with sheet-iron. At the end of the passage was 
another door, which Branksorne opened. W e saw dimly,, 
for we were not provided with any lantern, a small 
square 'Rpartment, furnished in the plainest fashion — a 
striking contrast to the beauty and luxury of everything 
else. The place was cold and dark ; I could feel Daisy, 
who was standing near me, shiver as she looked into the 
gloomy cell. 

‘‘ I think I must have that dismal hole improved out 
of existence,” said the millionaire in his placid tones. 
We were all glad to turn our backs upon this specimen 
•of ducal folly, and to make our way to the dining-saloon, 
where a luncheon in keeping with the splendors of the 
apartment was spread upon the table. 

It must, I think, have been the feeling of oppression 
that was produced in my mind by the display of Mau- 
leverer’s overpowering wealth that prevented my enjoy- 
ing that meal, even although it was the first I had ever 
taken in the company of the girl I loved. There was an 
additional reason, I think, which contributed, to a certain 
extent, to my embarrassment. I was seated opposite to 
Daisy at the round table which occupied the middle of 
the fioor of the cabin. Again and again I tried to catch 
her eye, and to win some word from her lips. More 
than once she looked up, and I thought I had succeeded. 
But if for a moment her eye seemed to rest on my face, 
it wandered almost instantaneously to that of my next 
neighbor, the doctor, and then it sank once more upon 
her plate. 

Branksorne himself kept me involved in a bright talk,, 


matjleveeer’s millions. 


55 


in wliicli not only the yacht and its glories, but the 
gayeties of Scarborough and the beauties of the Yorkshire 
scenery played a prominent part. By and by, however, 
he became confidential. 

“ You are looking at our friend over there, I see,^’ he 
said, indicating the man whom I had heard called Flinter 
by Mr. Mauleverer. The truth is, I was looking at him 
because I had become conscious of the fact that he was 
staring at me with the disagreeable intensity of purpose 
which I had noticed when I was speaking to the million- 
aire in the hotel in the morning. ‘‘Bather a rough 
diamond, is he not? But a diamond nevertheless. He 
owes everything to our good host, and would go 
through fire and water to serve him.” 

I thought to myself that the man hardly looked equal 
to the character thus given him by the doctor, but I had 
learned to distrust first impressions, and I said nothing. 

“Have you never heard of Mr. Fosdyke before?” 
whispered Branksome in my ear. “I am surprised. 
He is one of the very cleverest attorneys in London. 
You would soon hear all about him if you were to in- 
quire at Bow Street or the Old Bailey.” 

Fosdyke must have heard his name when Branksome 
whispered it to me. At all events I caught the glitter 
of his j^ince-nez as his eyes were turned upon me, and 
once more I felt that I was being subjected to a scrutiny 
of unpleasant severity. 

How I longed, as the well-drilled stewards passed 
round dish after dish and replenished our glasses with the 
champagne or claret which was provided in such profu- 
sion, for the peace of the days that were gone, when my 
darling was not set in this frame of almost regal splendor, 


56 


mauleveree’s millions. 


but when I was allowed to sit beside her with no jealous 
eye to keep watch between us, and no voice to contend 
with mine for the possession of her ear ! Once or twice 
I caught a look in her face that seemed to tell me that 
some thought not unlike this was passing through lier 
own mind ; but if ever her spirit seemed to be flagging, 
and the color began to fade from her face, some sally 
from Branksome, the brilliancy of whose conversation 
was in keeping with the agreeable suavity of his manner, 
roused her attention and made her smile again. 

I strove as we walked up from the shore in the late 
afternoon, after landing from the yacht, to secure a 
chance of speaking to her apart from the rest. But no 
such opportunity offered itself. She was monopolized 
by Fosdyke, and I had to content myself with the less 
seductive pleasures of Branksome’s conversation. 


CHAPTER V. 

I MEET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE, 

Beanksome’s conversation was not without its interest 
for me, vastly though I should liave preferred to listen 
to the voice of Daisy. The doctor had, I fancied, some 
suspicion of the state of my feelings regarding the 
beautiful girl who had been so long a resident in his 
house. Whether he regarded me with approval as a pos- 
sible suitor for her I could not tell. My instinct, in- 
deed, told me that he could hardly look upon a com- 


mauleverer’s millions. 


57 


paratively poor man like myself as being a fitting Imsband 
for the heiress of the millionaire. But he allowed no 
sign of such a feeling to make itself manifest ; and he 
talked about Daisy to me now, evidently because he felt 
that no other theme would interest me so deeply. What 
he had to say was indeed matter of interest to me. He 
told me that Miss Stanclifie was the daughter of Maulev- 
erer’s sister, who had married when very young. This 
I had known before. What I had not known was that 
there had been trouble in Mauleverer’s family in con- 
sequence of the marriage. 

‘‘ Mauleverer is a very proud man, though he does not 
wear his pride on his sleeve. Daisy’s father was — well, 
he has been dead now for more than sixteen years, so 
why should I rake up scandal against him ? Poor girl ! 
She lost her mother within a few months of the death 
of her father. I had attended the mother in her last 
illness. I and my wife took pity on the child and 
adopted her, having no children of our own.” 

“ But why did Mauleverer himself not adopt her at 
that time ?” I asked. 

He eyed me keenly for a moment before answering. 
“ Mauleverer did not know of her existence at that 
time,” he said. Daisy’s mother made me promise on 
her death-bed that I would never reveal the secret of 
the child’s parentage to her brother.” 

“ But you broke your promise in the end ?” 

I did. Was I not right to do so ? It is not an easy 
thing for a man of honor to prove unfaithful to such a 
trust as that. But I had to think of my duty to the 
living as well as to the dead. Think of my situation, 
my good young friend, and then say whether you con- 


58 


MAULEVEEEE^S MILLIONS. 


demn me. Tliere was Maiileverer, a lonely man, whose 
life was without any joys, though his wealth was almost 
fabulous. And here was Daisy — growing up to be what 
you see her now, but in a poor man’s house, with no | 
prospect of ever being anything more than a poor man’s 
wife” — I winced as he uttered these words — ‘‘in an 
Australian town. Did I not do well to think of the 
living before the dead ?” 

“ Yes ; if you ask me that question, I can only answer : 
with an emphatic affirmative.” ; 

“ Mauleverer has found a new joy in life, in the so- 
ciety of his niece. He is completely wrapped up in 
her — as you may perceive.” 

“ And are you still engaged in practice as a medical 
man ? ” I asked. 

“ Ho ; I have dropped medicine. I lost my wife some 
years ago. It was nearly as great a loss to Daisy as to 
me. Since then I have been Mauleverer’s agent. He is 
the most generous of men.” 

“ And the other gentlemen — have they any business 
connection with him ?” 

I felt that I was trespassing upon Branksome’s good- 
nature in subjecting him to these interrogatories. But 
he had shown himself so kindly and frank, and the sub- 
ject was one of such intense interest to me, that I could 
not resist the temptation to inquire further regarding 
the exact relationship of Daisy’s uncle with the men 
who had so suddenly appeared upon the scene. 

“ Fosdyke, as I told you, is the great London solici- 
tor. He is our — that is Mauleverer’s — legal adviser. 
As for Fiinter— well, I said he was a rough diamond, 
did I not? He has been for years emjdoyed upon Mr. 


mauleverer’s millions. 


50 


Mauleverer’s largest slieep-ruii, though I believe that 
originally he followed the sea.’’ 

But we had reached the hall of the hotel by this time, 
and it was evident that I was about to be parted from 
the little company in which I was so deeply interested. 

I Daisy held out her hand when she said good-by to 
me; but I could not detect any returning pressure when 
I grasped it warmly. She looked very beautiful and 
1 sweet and sad. She went to her room, leaving me 
wholly unsatisfied. 

And for the next two or three days I continued in 
the same mood. I saw Daisy daily, but never alone. 
Her most frequent companion was the doctor, who was 
always the same — bright, genial, full of witty and good- 
natured talk, but rather overpowering in the sense of 
authority with which he seemed to speak, and the com- 
pleteness with which he appeared to have subjugated 
Daisy’s will to his own. Then one day I heard from 
the lips of Branksome that the whole party were leav- 
ing Scarborough on the following morning. Their des- 
tination was the old Yorkshire house which had been 
purchased by Mr. Mauleverer as a home for himself and 
Daisy. 

When I heard this piece of news, I looked eagerly at 
the girl to see how she regarded it. There was pain 
; enough in my own face, I know, for in such a matter I 
! could not dissemble. With the fierce joy of a lover, I 
ii saw that she too was troubled. But she said not a word, 
j It was only in her beautiful eyes that I read that which, 
|1 to some extent, comforted me. 

; But the next morning — the last morning of all— the 
; morning which was to see an end forever of those happy 


60 


mauleveree’s millions. 


days that I spent with my love at Scarborough, I had 
tlie opportunity, for which I had longed so eagerly, of 
seeing her apart from those friends of hers, who seemed 
to have interposed themselves between us with such 
fatal effect. 

Branksome and Flinter had gone to the yacht, which 
still lay idly in the bay, and Fosdyke was transacting 
some business of his own in the town. Mr. Mauleverer 
and Daisy came out of the hotel, as the former said, to 
take a last look at the beautiful place before starting 
for the railway-station where the whole party were to 
meet in less than an hour’s time. 

We walked to the little brow of the cliff, hard by the 
Grand Hotel, where there are a number of benches 
overlooking the sands and the valley, and here we seated 
ourselves. Daisy, as in the old days, sat between her 
uncle and myself. She was pale and nervous ; but her . 
smile was as sweet as it had ever been, and she was no 
longer mute. We talked of indifferent matters for a j 
little time, and then, unable any longer to keep back the 
thought that was uppermost in my mind, I referred to 
their departure. 

“ I don’t know,” I said, “ when we three shall meet 
again. Are you ever likely to return to Scarborough ?” 

Daisy blushed and said nothing. I saw that she was 
nervously playing with the tassel of her parasol. 

“We must not wait till we return to Scarborough be- 
fore seeing Mr. Fenton again,” said Mauleverer to his 
niece. “He must come to Great Lorton Hall. You 
have never seen it, I think ? Well, you will find it 
worth the trouble of a visit.” 

I had hardly words to express my gratitude. Every- 


mauleverer’s millions. 


61 


I thing seemed clear before me, now that I was not to be 
' cut ofl: absolutely from further communication with 
Daisy. As for her, there was a look of unfeigned de- 
light in her face also when she heard her uncle’s pro- 
posal. But too quickly it faded away, and I observed 
I again the anxious expression I had so often seen during 
the last few days. She knit her brows and seemed lost 
i in thought. 

I I heard a footstep near us, and looked up. Brank- 
some was standing before us, with a good-humored 
, smile on his face, as his eye travelled from Daisy to my- 

i self. That was the end of my dream of joy at Scar- 

boron orh. 

It was a long and a sad week that followed their de- 
parture ; but I am not going to inflict upon my readers 
an account of the love-sick moods in which I wandered 
about the places where we had been wont to meet, re- 
calling, so far as I could, every separate occasion upon 
which we had been together, and every word that she 
had spoken. I only knew that I was more deeply in 
love with her than ever, and that nothing but the op- 
pressive sense of her uncle’s wealth kept me from tell- 
ing my secret forthwith. 

But one happy morning all my misery was brought to 
an end by the receipt of a letter — the first letter I had 
ever received in her handwriting — inviting me to Great 
Lorton Hall. Here it is : 

Great Lorton Hall, 

September %\st. 

Dear Mr. Fenton, — My uncle asks me to say that he 
has not forgotten your promise to pay us a visit here. 
He wishes to know if it will be convenient to you to 


62 


mauleverer’s millions. 


come on Thursday next, and to stay a few days. I 
hope that you have no engagement to prevent your 
doing so. You will, I am sure, like to see this place. 
Both the house and the grounds are most romantic. 
There is a haunted chamber, but no ghosts have been 
seen as yet. Perhaps they are waiting till you arrive, in 
order to do honor to your visit. Indeed we shall all, botli 
ghosts and living, be glad to welcome you. It is rather 
dull here. My uncle and Dr. Branksome are engaged 
all the morning over their business affairs, so that I see 
little of them. Mr. Fosdyke has returned to town. I 
assure you I feel the contrast between this place and 
Scarborough. There are no bright mornings here, spent 
in listening to the music of the band, and watching the 
sea in the bay. 

Kindly let us know by what train you are to arrive, 
and you shall be met at the station. Both my uncle and 
Dr. Branksome desire to be remembered to you. 

Believe me, dear Mr. Fenton, 

Yours very sincerely, 

Daisy Stancliffe. 

There was not much in this letter, perhaps — not much 
on which to build a whole castle of delightful hopes. 
Bat such as it was, it served for me. I read it and re- 
read it a hundred times on that happy day, and pressed 
my lips again and again to the spot on which with her 
own hand she had signed her name. 

The journey by rail from Scarborough to Great Lorton 
Hall— or rather to Little Lorton, the nearest railway- 
station on the North-Eastern line — is a long and tedious 
pne ; for though the distance between the two places as 


maulevereb’s millions. 


63 




the crow flies is a little more than thirty miles, there is 
no direct route. I learned, when I left Scarborough, 
that I must change carriages at Malton, and there in- 
trust myself to the tender mercies of a local line, the 
trains on which, judging by the time-table I had studied 
beforehand, were limited to sometliing like the speed 
attained by the old stage-coaches, before the locomotive 
had swept them out of existence. 

As far as Malton my journey was swift and pleasant. 
I had a compartment to myself, and I spent my time in 
ruminating upon the past with all its memories of sweet- 
ness, and anticipating the future with the eagerness of at 
lover. The train into which I was transferred at Mal- 
ton was a very short one. It was evident that the Lor- 
ton branch was not one of those for which the managers, 
of the Horth-Eastern Railway deemed it necessary ta 
make any very extensive provision. 

I took my seat in the carriage to which the porter 
directed me, and awaited the departure of the train.. 
There were few passengers besides myself, and appar- 
' ently none who were likely to travel first-class. So, at 
least, I thought, until, almost at the moment when the; 
train was starting, a man whose face I had seen only once; 
before, but whom I was never likely to forget, suddenly- 
emerged from a waiting-room, and advancing quickly 
towards the compartment in which I was seated, entered 
it and closed the door behind him. It was the person 
whom I had knocked down in the York railway-station 
on the day on which I first saw Daisy. 

It would not have been easy then for me to leave the 
carriage, even if such a course had been consistent with 
my self-respect; I sincerely hoped, however, that my 


64 


mauleveree’s millions. 


old antagonist would not recognize me. The notion of 
travelling in Lis company was anything but pleasant. I 
saw, now that I was able to regard him more attentively 
than I could do in that hurried encounter at York, that 
he was about thirty years of age, and that, whilst his 
face bore the stamp of vicious self-indulgence, it was 
weak rather than wicked in its expression. He was 
dressed in clothes of fashionable cut; but they were 
somewhat the worst for wear. 

When he entered the carriage he had lifted his hat to 
me, and had then seated himself in the farthest corner, 
where he appeared to be intently occupied in gazing out 
of the window upon the red tiles of the Malton houses. 
My hope that he did not know me again grew. It was 
soon dispelled. The moment the train had begun to 
move from the platform he turned towards me and, 
again lifting his hat, greeted me with a bow and an 
ironical smile. I said nothing, though I wondered much 
what his next move would be. I had not long to wait. 
He rose from the corner seat he had occupied and took 
that directly opposite to me. 

‘‘Well, my friend !” he said, still with the disagree- 
able smile upon his lips. “You did not expect to 
see me to-day, did you ? I suppose that you and the 
rest of your gang thought that I was far enough away 
by this time — too far to disturb you in your operations.” 

He apparently expected me to make some reply to 
this, for he ceased to speak, and contented himself with 
staring into my face in an ostentatiously offensive 
manner. 

“You really have the advantage of me,” I said. “1 
don’t know what you are talking about.” 


mauleverer’s millions. 


65 


“Oh, indeed!” he laughed mockingly. “You did 
not even know what you were doing when you tried to 
murder me at York, I suppose.” 

“Don’t talk nonsense, sir,” I rei^lied hotly. “You 
know that you struck me first.” 

“ Possibly ; and you, sir, know why you refused to 
allow me to enter that carriage in which I had a better 
right to be than yourself, or any other man living.” He 
spoke with a savage emphasis which I should hardly 
have expected from one whose face betokened so much 
weakness of character. 

What was his right to enter the carriage where Daisy 
was ? I confess that my heart was beating more quickly 
as I put this question to myself. 

“ Oh, make no mistake 1” he continued, warming at 
the sound of his own voice. “ I know you all. I know 
your game. Shall I tell you what it is ? Don’t think 
that I am afraid of any of you — neither of you, nor 
of Branksome, nor of Flinter — no, nor of Miss Stan- 
cliffe either 1 It’s a pretty name, Staiiclifie, is it not? 

And she has a pretty face too. D her and all of 

you.” 

My blood grew suddenly hot. “ If you say anything 
more about the young lady, sir, I shall do again what I 
did at York.” 

He laughed insultingly. “ Ho you won’t,” he said, 
“ Oh, no, you won’t ! Your game now is not to kill me, 
but to find out how much I know. Well, guess, and I’ll 
tell you if you are right. But as for the young lady, 
leave her to me. Unless you are a greater fool than I 
take you to be, you know that my right to talk about 
her comes before yours.” 

5 


66 


MAULEVERER’s MILLION'S. 


Not for a moment did I credit the monstrous insinua- 
tion contained in his words. And yet there was a keen 
pain at my heart as I listened to him. 

“ Now look here,” he continued ; I want to tell you, 
Mr. — why, I don’t even know your name. I never 
saw you before that day at York. You are the newest 
recruit, I suppose. But never mind your name. I’ve 
seen you with the whole gang, — with her, and with 
Flinter, and with all the rest, — and I know you are one 
of them. So just let me tell you that I am on your 
track. You thought it a clever tiling to bury yourselves 
down in tlie wolds of Yorkshire, I suppose. You could 
do anything in a haunted old house, half a dozen miles 
from anywhere, and fear no awkward inquiries. Oh, 
I’ve seen the place, and I congratulate you on the taste 
you have shown. A capital place it is, upon my soul, 
for such work as yours.” 

“Either explain yourself,” I cried angrily, “or be 
silent. You talk like a madman.” 

“ Well, if I were mad it would not be wonderful ; but 
as it happens, I am as sane as you are. So l will explain 

myself, by G , and clearly too. There is murder 

going to he done at the place to which you are now 
going ^ and you know it ! Is that enough ?” 

I smiled incredulously. He really is mad, was the 
thought that flashed across my mind. 

“ Oh, you laugh ; but you will laugh in another way 
yet. I am on your track, I tell you, and when the time 
comes I’ll strike. Tell that to your friends. Tell it to 
Branksome ; tell it to Flinter ; tell it to Fosdyke ; and, 
above all, tell it to Miss Stancliffe. Say that I told you 
that I’ll bring every one of you — every one, mind — to 


mauleverer’s millions. 


67 


the gallows yet. Go on with your hellish plots, and see 
liow they will succeed now that I’m kept out of them. 
That is my message to your friends. Take it to them 
without fail ; tell it to them exactly as I have told it to 
you, and prepare, every one of you, for the worst !” 

I had no doubt in my mind now as to his being mad. 
The change in his face would have alone convinced me 
of that fact. His eyes literally blazed with the passion 
that had possession of him. But his words had moved 
me also to something like passion. 

And who are you, sir, that you dare to talk in this 
way to me ? What is all this raving about, and from 
what asylum have you escaped ?” 

In a moment he was perfectly calm. “ You are a 
new hand at the business altogether,” he said, — “ just 
sworn in, eh ?” with a malicious chuckle. But if you 
want to know my name. I’ll tell you. It is James 
Gregson, and James Gregson has given you your orders, 
which you’ll please to carry out.” 

The train was slackening speed at a wayside station a 
few miles from Malton. My companion nodded his 
head with emphasis, as though to enforce his words, 
and then, almost before I was aware, he had opened 
and closed the door, and I found myself alone again. 
Hardly had he gone than my attention was attracted by 
something lying on the floor — something which had 
evidently fallen from his pocket as he leaped from the 
carriage. I picked it up. It was a photograph of 
Daisy, apparently taken a year or two before. The 
likeness was unmistakable. I turned the card, and saw 
the name of a Sydney photographer printed upon it. 
There was something more. Faintly written in pencil 


68 


matjleverer’s millions. 


were the words “ Daisy Stancliffe, alias Some 

other rame had been written after the “alias/’ but 
either purposely or by accidental friction — for the pho- 
tograph had evidently, fi’om its appearance, been car- 
ried in Gregson’s pocket for a considerable period — the 
second name had been obliterated. 

I had enough and more than enough to think of 
during the tedious remainder of my journey to Little 
Lorton. 


CHAPTEE YI. 

GREAT LORTON HALL. 

When I alighted at the railway-station I saw a smart 
dog-cart standing by the roadside, and no sooner had I 
mentioned my destination to the porter than my port- 
manteau was placed in this vehicle. It was a drive of 
nearly four miles to Mauleverer’s house. The country 
through which we passed looked beautiful in the early 
autumn dress which it now wore. There were distant 
lines of blue hills, and near at hand long meadows slop- 
ing to where a little river meandered down a gentle 
valley; with dark sketches of woodland interspersed 
here and there among the variously-colored patches 
which represented meadows and corn-fields. 

I had asked the groom who drove me how Mauleverer 
and his niece were, and had discovered that he was too 
new a comer to be able to tell me anything that I did 
not know respecting them. I remained silent, there- 




MAULEVEREr’s MILLION!^. 


69 


fore, during the greater part of the drive, contenting 
myself with listening to the larks, which were pouring 
forth their carols high up in the clear blue heavens, and 
with keeping a sharp lookout for the house where I 
was to meet my darling. 

We came at last to a long avenue of venerable trees 
which lined the public road on either side. It was 
unusual to see trees like these planted by the side of a 
highway, and I could not resist the conclusion that this 
must have been the main approach to the hall in past 
times. It led, however, straight into a little village, 
consisting of not more than a score of ancient houses. 
Beyond the village I could see the river, and a bridge 
with a high-crowned arch, which I learned subsequently 
had accommodated all the traffic in that sparsely-inhab- 
ited district since the days of good Queen Bess. Beyond 
the bridge again all was open country. I looked round 
in bewilderment in search of the hall. 

Suddenly I caught sight of it, standing hard by the 
road on the very edge of the little river. A great rook- 
ery of lofty elms had shielded it at first from my ob- 
servation, so that I did not see it until we were almost 
at the door. We passed through a fine gateway, flush 
with the village street, and found ourselves in a large 
quadrangle, covered with grass, upon which one of the 
gabled ends of the hall looked out. There was another 
massive stone gateway opposite to that by which we 
entered this inclosure, and here the dog-cart stopped. 

As I jumped to the ground, the iron gates of beauti- 
ful hammered metal were thrown open, and Daisy and 
her uncle stood before me. They gave me a cordial 
greeting, Mauleverer being, as usual, quietly courteous. 


10 


MAITLEVERER S MILLIONS. 


Daisy’s face was radiant with a happiness that seemed 
to answer that which filled my own heart. I forgot 
everything about my strange companion in the railway- 
carriage, in the joy of the moment. 

We were standing, I found, on a broad terraced walk 
which stretched along the main front of the liall and a 
warm garden- wall of red brick which was continued, 
for a hundred yards or more, beyond the end of the 
house itself. The hall was a venerable and imposing 
structure, built at different periods and in many differ- 
ent styles of architecture. The oldest portion dated 
from the reign of Henry the Seventh, and was a frag- 
ment of some ecclesiastical edifice which had been 
sacked and confiscated at the Reformation. The most 
modern part was that in front of which I now stood, 
and which had been erected in the reign of James the 
First. 

There was something very striking both in the ap- 
pearance and the situation of the house. It stood, as I 
have said, close to the village street ; and yet the double 
gates, and the great walled quadrangle, to say nothing 
of the tall elm-trees, seemed to shut it off completely 
from the outer world. The river ran so close to its 
northern walls that there was hardly room to pass be- 
tween the house and the edge of the stream. Here, on 
the south side, where I had met my host and his niece, 
the broad walk on which we stood was the only level 
piece of ground. Immediately beyond it the park-land 
rose steeply towards the sky-line. 

A house at once beautiful and romantic, I thought, 
and unmistakably a house with a history. I could im- 
agine that in the dark days of winter it wore a ghostly 


mauleverer’s MILLIOI^S. 


VI 


aspect, as it rose amid the skeleton branches of the 
elms from the edge of the sluggish stream that swept 
past its walls. But to-day it had a pleasant appearance 
enough, for the sun was shining upon its richly-tinted 
brickwork, and upon the mullioned windows enriched 
with numberless heraldic devices in stained glass. 

“ Do you admire the house ?” said Daisy, with a smile 
that had something in it of the pride of ownership. 

“ Indeed I do,” I responded. But is not the situa- 
tion, so close to the village on one hand and to the river 
on the other, rather peculiar 

‘‘ I thought so myself, at first,” interposed Maulev- 
erer, “ but I find that we are as completely secluded 
here as if no village at all existed ; and as to the river, 
you know there is no house so dry as one that stands 
on the banks of a stream. But come, Daisy, we must 
not keep Mr. Fenton standing here. Let us show him 
something more than the outside of the house.” 

We entered, through a quaint stone porch, a large 
hall, with immense open fireplace, low panelled roof of 
carved oak, and columns of the same wood supporting 
the ceiling. There were doors leading from this hall in 
almost every direction. The apartment itself was fur- 
nished in a style which corresponded with the architec- 
ture. There were heavily carved Jacobean chairs and 
tables, a lounge or two, some magnificent black oak 
cabinets, and an antique clock which would have created 
a furore if it could have been seen at Christy’s. An 
immense staircase, up which it would have been an easy 
matter to drive the traditional coach-and-four, led from 
the hall to the drawing-room fioor. The walls of the 
staircase were hung with splendid tapestry. From the 


72 


mauleveeer’s milltoks. 


gallery to which the stairs gave access I was conducted 
by my host into the drawing-room, an apartment which 
corresponded in size with the great hall below. At 
either end of it were smaller rooms, one fitted as a 
boudoir, and the other as a library ; whilst beyond these 
again were suites of spacious bedrooms, many with 
rudely carved walls of panelled oak, and others hung 
like the staircase with venerable tapestry. 

I could not refrain from giving audible expression to 
the admiration with which I saw the noble dimensions 
of all the apartments, and the fine taste with which they 
were furnished. 

“ Yes,” said Mauleverer, “ it all does credit to the 
people who have made a ramshackle old house habitable 
in a wonderfully short space of time. When I saw it 
three months ago, nobody would have supposed that it 
could ever again be made fit to live in. Yet we find 
it comfortable enough now — do we not, Daisy ?” 

“ Oh, it is a charming place,” she answered. ‘‘But 
you know, uncle, I have already told you that for some 
things — such as brightness and life and society — I pre- 
ferred the Grand Hotel at Scarborough.” 

“ Yes, my dear, I know you are always throwing 
Scarborough in my teeth. Never mind.; we shall see it 
again some day.” 

I had tried to catch Daisy’s eye whilst her uncle was 
speaking, but she would not look at me. 

“ You have something here, at any rate,” I said, 
“ which you can’t get at the Grand Hotel.” 

“ What is that ?” asked Mauleverer. 

“ A haunted room — Miss Stanclifie told me of it. -I 
suppose you have not seen the ghost yet ?” 


MAULEVEEER^S MILLIONS. 


V3 

“ You do not believe in such nonsense said the 
millionaire. 

If I did, I should not like to acknowledge it in the 
present day,” I replied. 

“ JN'obody has seen it yet,” said Daisy, Vith an air of 
mock solemnity ; “ but we all believe in it — all but my 
uncle and Dr. Branksome. And do you know that, if 
you will not be afraid, you are to sleep in the haunted 
chamber ? It is the best bedroom in the wliole house.” 

Afraid ! I should have been a poor creature, indeed, 
if in the presence of the girl I loved, and as I stood in 
the full sunshine which was streaming through the 
painted windows from the cheerful day outside, I had 
for an instant admitted the thought of fear to my 
heart. 

‘‘Oh, nothing could be better than that,” I cried, 
with a laugh ; “ I shall be able to investigate a genuine 
case of ghost-seeing for myself. It is not often a man 
has that privilege.” 

“ And very seldom that he has it under such excep- 
tional circumstances !” 

I turned with a sudden start ; for it was Branksome 
who had spoken. He had joined us nnperceived as we 
stood chattering in the gallery at the head of the great* 
staircase. He shook hands with me in a friendly fash- 
ion, and then, continuing his speech, said, “ You will 
not only sleep in the haunted room to-night, — that is, if 
you are not afraid,-— but in one which I am told nobody 
has ventured to sleep in for more than a century.” 

“ So much the better. I ought to have a story to tell 
to-morrow.” 

“ Yes,” said Dais}^, “ we shall think very poorly of 


74 


mauleverer’s millions. 


your imagination if you cannot make our nerves tingle 
at breakfast-time with the horrors you have to relate.’’ 

“And may I see the torture- chamber ?” I asked, re- 
solved to keep up the jest. 

“ Oh, certainly !” said Mauleverer. Even his usually 
equable temperament, which was pervaded at most times 
by a mild melancholy, seemed to have caught the spirit 
of the joke. But, with his accustomed kindness, he 
added, “Perhaps you may not like the room when you 
have seen it. I don’t know that it is altogether kind to 
ask you to sleep in it — it may be damp, or disagreeable 
in other ways, you know ; so if you would prefer an- 
other — ” 

“ But, my dear Mr. Mauleverer, there is no other 
room in the house which I shall prefer to this. I shall 
like it, I am sure, above all things.” 

And having said this, I started off with the rest of 
the merry little party to look at my destined dormitory. 
The room, I discovered, did not lie on the same floor as 
the drawing-room, on which most of the sleeping-cham- 
bers were to be found. We passed along a corridor 
from which a number of bedrooms opened, until we 
came to a heavy oaken door, black with age, which 
barred one end of the passage. On opening this we 
found ourselves on a landing in another staircase — 
worm-eaten and silent, which descended into black 
depths below us, and wound its way above our heads 
for several flights. Up this staircase we went, still 
gayly. More than once we found an oaken door like 
that by which we had come upon the stair; but in every 
case the door was heavily barred and padlocked. Some 
faint perception of the fact that the haunted chamber 


MAULEVEEER^S MILLIONS. 


15 


had other disadvantages besides the presence of a sup- 
posititious ghost began to enter my mind. 

“ You will be quiet enough here, at any rate,” said 
Branksome. “ Unless the ghost comes to trouble you, 
there will be nothing to disturb your sleep.” 

And I suppose I shall at least hear the ghost — in 
the shape of rats.” 

‘‘Bats!” cried Daisy. “I don’t think they have 
mounted as high as this, but in the kitchens they are to 
be found in legions and armies. Every house has its 
special drawback. It is not the ghost that is the draw- 
back here — it is the rats.” 

“ You will need to summon the Pied Piper to your 
aid,” I said. 

Better try strychnine 1” was Branksome’s commen- 
tary on my jocular remark. 

But we had reached a broad landing at the top of the 
lonely flight of stairs. I could see that we were in one 
of the more remote wings of the house ; for the windows 
which gave us light looked down upon the sullen river. 

“ Here we are,” said the doctor, who now took the 
lead, probably because Mauleverer was breathless after 
his climb. 

We entered a small anteroom, the walls of which 
were panelled. There was a quaint old flreplace in one 
corner of the apartment, and the mullioned window 
gave comparatively little light. The room had been 
newly furnished in the French fashion, with heavy 
chairs, gilded mirrors and girandoles, a beautiful ormolu 
writing-table, a richly carved bookcase, and all the ac- 
cessories of a delightful little salon such as a bachelor 
might rejoice to own. 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


V6 

A curtain of velvet hung over tlie doorway which 
led from this antechamber into the sleeping-room. 
There was nothing ghostly here. It was a large, bright, 
airy apartment, with a big window commanding a 
matchless prospect along the valley. Like the sitting- 
room it was furnished in the French fashion, and all 
the appointments were sumptuous. The only feature 
of the room that seemed to suggest the idea of age was 
the embossed leather which, hanging heavily from the 
ceiling, covered all the walls. 

“I think you will agree with me, Mr. Fenton,” said 
Branksome, ‘‘ that a man has no occasion to complain 
of his quarters here. This is by far the finest room in 
the house, to my thinking. Just look at the view from 
the window. It is rather curious, by the way, that these 
should be the original hangings of the room. All the 
tapestry downstairs has been bought in Paris within the 
last two months ; but this old leather is genuine. It 
must have covered these walls for a couple of hundred 
years at least.” 

We all turned to admire the hangings. The gilding 
had nearly disappeared from the surface of the leather, 
but the designs embossed upon it were still plainly to 
be seen ; they were elaborate and beautiful. Nothing, 
I felt, could be better than the rooms allotted to me ; 
and yet, even then, I confessed in my innermost heart 
that I hardly liked the way to them. 

It was five o’clock, and when, our inspection of the 
noble old house being finished, we went down to the 
great hall, we found tea awaiting us. 

“ Had you a pleasant journey ?” It was Branksome 
who put the question to me. 


mauleverer’s millions. 


77 


I colored. To tell tlie truth, I had forgotten all about 
the journey and my strange adventure in the excitement 
of my arrival at Great Lorton and the joy of Daisy’s 
presence. ISTow it all came back to me, however. I 
hesitated in visible confusion, painfully conscious of the 
fact that Branksome was regarding me steadily. 

“ It was not so pleasant as it might have been,” I said 
at last. ‘‘ I had a disagreeable companion for a part of 
the way.” 

At that moment, to my great relief, Daisy proposed 
that she should show me her flower-garden whilst there 
was still light by which to see it. She hastily threw 
a wrapper of some kind around her shoulders, and led 
the way bareheaded. I followed her, delighted at the 
thought that at last I should see her for a few moments 
alone ; for Mauleverer, and Branksome remained behind. 

The flower-garden was at the end of the broad walk, 
which passed along the front of the hall. We entered 
it through a door in an old stone wall. It seemed to me 
that everything at Great Lorton was cut up by walls 
or barred by doors. I had seen nothing like it before. 
But within the garden, which was spacious and well laid 
out, there were no signs of restricted liberty. Every- 
thing here was beautiful. 

Daisy was in the best of spirits, and pointed out to 
me, with all the pride of a proprietor, the lovely autumn 
flowers which were still in bloom, and the promise which 
the garden gave of further loveliness in the coming 
summer. But by and by her spirits seemed to flag, 
and she ceased to speak. The truth was, that from the 
moment when we entered the garden I myself had 
hardly uttered a syllable. We moved slowly along the 


mauleverer’s millions. 


Y8 

winding walks, now speechless and self-conscious. Oh, 
the joy of being near her — of hearing the rustle of her 
dress, the sound of her foot upon the path ; oh, the 
delight of being allowed once more to look into that 
face, dearer to me than the face of any other of God’s 
creatures ! 

But the silence was becoming oppressive. I broke it at 
last with an effort. You are glad that I came ?” I said. 

With eyes full of tenderness, and a smile that made 
her face as an angel’s, she turned and looked at me. 
She did not speak, but I had my answer, and my heart 
throbbed with an exquisite bliss which it had never 
known before. 

She had plucked a lovely tea-rose that we had found 
lingering on one of the trees. 

“ Will you give me the rose ?” I said. 

As she gave it to me our hands touched, and even at 
the same moment our eyes met, and in an instant she 
was clasped in my arms, and I had printed the first kiss 
of love upon her fair cheek. 

There were a few moments of silence — of silence bro- 
ken only by her sighs, which sounded in my ears almost 
like sobs. She did not attempt to release herSelf ; but 
at last, in answer to my passionate prayer, she slowly 
raised her face, radiant with love and tenderness, towards 
mine, and our lips met in a long kiss, in which our very 
souls seemed to mingle. 

Presently she slowly drew herself away from me, 
though she still left her hand in mine. 

“ How did you know,” she said in a voice that strug- 
gled against the conflicting emotions in her heart, ‘‘ how 
did you know that I loved you ?” 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


79 


“ My darling,” I cried, “ I only knew that /loved you, 
and that life without you would be utter misery to me. 
But do you love me, Daisy — do you, dearest?” 

“Ah, yes!” she said, in a voice the tender cadences 
of which sounded like music wafted from some far-off 
heaven, “ I love you. I cannot help it. But it is wrong, 
I fear. They will never allow us to meet again.” 

“ I know,” I said, with a bitter heart, “ they will say 
that it is your uncle’s riches that I love, and they will 
despise me as a fortune-hunter.” 

“ITo, no. They must know you better than that. It 
is not that. But I know they will never allow us to see 
each other any more when they discover — ah, there is 
some one calling 1” 

She started from me in affright, and answered quickly. 

It was Branksome’s voice which we heard. 

“ How now, young people 1” he cried, in a tone of 
banter. “ The sun has been set this half-hour or more, 
and you can hardly appreciate the flowers in the dark. 
Besides, it is almost time to dress for dinner, and your 
uncle has been asking for you, Daisy.” 

There was nothing in the tone of his voice to indicate 
that he had any suspicion as to the reason why we had 
lingered so long in the garden. We walked silently 
beside him. When we reached the door, he suggested 
that it would be well to lock it now, as no one was 
likely to return to the garden from the house that night. 
But even as he pulled the key from his pocket a voice 
I had learned to know and hate saluted us. It was that 
of Flinter. 

“Don’t lock me in all night, please,” he cried, in 
gruff tones. “I’ve been just looking round a bit. 


80 


mauleveree’s millions. 


There’s plenty of room for improvement here, it seems 
to me.” 

He took no notice either of Daisy or myself, and there 
was something in his manner that was almost insolent. 
In the dim twilight I eyed him angrily, and longed for 
a chance of quarrelling with him. But I felt a light 
touch upon my arm, and the next moment I saw that 
Daisy, in her white dress, had passed through the gate. 
I followed her instantly. 

“ Hush !” she said in agitated tones. ‘‘ Take no notice 
of that man. He is dangerous.” And before I could 
recover from my surprise she had entered the hall, where 
her uncle awaited her. 

Our dinner was not quite such a success as I had an- 
ticipated. Mr. Mauleverer, it is true, was courteous as 
ever; and Branksome talked, with that fulness of 
knowledge which distinguished him above any other 
man I had ever met, on many different topics. But 
Daisy had a headache, and sat with a pale face at the 
head of the table ; whilst I was overweighted by the joy 
that filled my heart as I thought of her avowal in the 
garden. There were no signs of Flinter. It was evi- 
dent that at Great Lorton Hall he was not allowed to 
associate with the millionaire on the terms of equality 
which were permitted on the yacht. 

After dinner we went upstairs to the drawing-room, 
but that apartment was too vast to be comfortable. A 
fire had been lighted in the library adjoining it, and we 
resorted thither, and spent some time in examining a 
collection of priceless etchings which had been supplied 
— I could not help thinking — by the contractors who 
furnished the hall. Mr. Mauleverer was a man of fine 


mauleverer’s millions. 


81 


tastes, but be could not be called a cultivated person, 
and I think he had very little idea of the value of those 
matchless impressions of the Dutch masters, from Ru- 
bens downwards, which none but a millionaire could 
have acquired. I was allowed no opportunity of ex- 
clianging a word with Daisy until she was leaving the 
room for the night. Then, as I handed her the candle 
I I had lighted, I murmured two words only in her ear, 

j My darling.” She looked up at me with a faint smile, 
and let her hand rest a moment in mine as we said good- 
I night. 

I ‘‘Will you smoke?” asked Mauleverer, and on my 
replying in the affirmative he led me to a comfortable 
smoking-room, where I found everything needful pro- 
vided for us. Eranksome did not appear. I had already 
learned, however, that he was no smoker, and I was not 
, therefore surprised at his absence. Mauleverer himself 
i smoked little, and long before I had finished my cigar 
his cigarette had been consumed. With an apology on 
; the score of his delicate health he by and by left me to 
myself. 


CHAPTER YII. 

THE HAUNTED ROOM. 

I AM afraid I sat longer than I should have done in 
the luxurious little smoking-room. It was not the ad- 
mirable quality of Maulever^r’s cigars that chained me 
to the spot. My mi!id was full of all the incidents of 
the day, and I slowly pondered on them as the fragrant 


82 


mauleverer’s millions. 


clouds of tobacco-smoke rose above my head. My 
predominant feeling was one of almost extravagant de- 
light. “ She loves me ! She loves me !” was the thought 
that most frequently came uppermost in my mind. But 
ever and anon there shot across the broad current of my 
joy a sinister sense of doubt and apprehension. I re- 
membered the inscription on tlie back of Daisy’s por- 
trait, Daisy Stancliffe, alias I recalled, not 

now with the scornful indifference that I had felt in 
the train, the wild words of Gregson, “ There is murder 
going to be done at the place to which you are going, 
and you know it.” If that were true, then, at least, I 
thought I did know by whom the murder ’would be 
wrought. It would be the man Flinter, whom Daisy 
had just described to me as dangerous. Aye, and once 
or twice I remembered how Gregson had involved all 
of us, myself and Branksome and even Daisy herself, 
in a common condemnation with this ruffian. I knew 
how guiltless I myself was of all criminal plots against 
any human being. But I was not more certain of my 
own innocence than I was of Daisy’s. Let me write 
that herewith emphasis, so that, blamable as I may have 
been in many matters, I shall at least be free from 
blame in this. 

But from all these wild and wandering fancies my 
mind ever returned to the same delightful thought of 
Daisy’s love. That sooner or later she should be mine, 
I was resolved. As for Mauleverer’s millions, let them 
perish with him, if they were to stand between us. 

I was aroused from a long deep reverie by the silvery 
tone of the clock which stood on the mantle-piece of the 
room. I looked up, and to my surprise saw that it was 


mauleverer’s millions. 


83 


one o’clock. I had spent more than an hour by myself 
after Mauleverer had left me. 

There was all through the house that dead and sol- 
emn silence which is never so complete as in a large 
country house at that hour of the night. I could feel, 
as it were, all around me the great empty rooms, and 
the long corridors with their mysterious windings, and 
the worm-eaten staircases, up and down which those who 
had been dust now for hundreds of years had once 
passed in the flush of life and health. 

' There was not a sound, I say, to break the silence ; 
and yet as I listened that very silence seemed to be- 
come vocal, and all the air was fllled with one loud 
rhythmic cry that struck upon my tingling nerves with 
a distinctness which spoken words could never have at- 
tained. “ There is murder to be done here ; murder, 
jj murder, murder! ” That was what the awful silence o’f 
the great house seemed to say to me. I knew that it 
was nothing more than the effect of the imagination due 
to the excitement of the past day. Yet I started up in 
nervous terror, and lighted my candle, hardly daring to 
look behind me as I turned from the room to seek my 
,i chamber. 

f Where or how I got wrong I hardly knew. I found 
i presently, however, that I had missed the corridor 
i through which I had to pass on my way to the staircase 
j leading to my room. I turned into another passage, 
i thinking it might lead me in the right direction. As 
I I was passing a door in this corridor, I distinctly heard 
a voice raised as in anger. It was Flinter who was 
speaking. 

‘‘Curse him! what has brought him here to meddle 


84 


mauleverer’s millions. 


with evei7tliing! Yon may believe me or not, as you 
like, but if that infernal boy is not put out of the way, 
and quickly too, we may as well give up the game.” 

I heard no more. There was a faint murmur as 
though some one responded to Flinter, but I could catch 
no intelligible sound, so I passed on, hardly thinking for 
the moment that what I had heard could have any ref- 
erence to myself. The next turn brought me in some 
inexplicable fashion to the head of the great staircase, 
from which spot it was an easy matter for me to find 
my way to my bedroom. 

I closed the outer door opening upon the lonely stair 
that gave access to my apartment, and looked around 
me. I was in the delightful little sitting-room beyond 
which the bedroom was dimly visible through an open' 
door. A fire had been lighted in both rooms, but in 
neither case was it now burning. The black ashes con- 
trasted drearily with the sumptuous furnishing of the 
two apartments. I did not linger in the outer room. I 
crossed the threshold of the haunted chamber, and clos- 
ing the door, began at once to prepare for bed. 

And now, in the very dead of the night, and cut off 
by long galleries and lonely staircases from any other 
human being, with nerves shaken too by all the exciting 
incidents of the day, I first realized the fact that to 
sleep in this room with all its memories and traditions 
was by no means so pleasant an adventure as it had 
seemed a few hours earlier. What was the ghost which, 
was said to haunt the place? I sat down and tried 
to recall the legend as I had heard it after dinner. A 
woman, false and cruel, who had once been the mis- 
tress of the hall, kept the young heir a captive in this 


matjleverer’s millions. 


85 


very room for many years, in order that she might sub- 
stitute her own child for him. In tliis lonely chamber 
— so the story ran — the captive boy had only one visitor: 
it was his half-brother, the child for whose sake his own 
life was doomed to misery. And the two had learned 
to love each other, so that day by day the young favor- 
ite would creep up the dark staircase and find admis- 
sion to the chamber where the true heir was imprisoned. 
One day the younger child was playing as usual in the 
room when something attracted him to the window. It 
was open, for it was in the summer-time. He peeped 
out and saw his mother standing below him. With a 

I cry of joy he leaned out of the window, clapping his 
hands ; and in a moment he had overbalanced himself, 
and had fallen a crushed and lifeless mass at the feet of 
the cruel woman who had sinned for him in vain. A 
few hours later, when the particulars which the shock 
of so terrible a tragedy had produced had died away, 
the lady climbed the dusty oaken staircase and entered 
I the room where the heir lay, overwhelmed with grief 
I and horror at the fate of his little playmate. Dark 
I vengeance was on her face — the vengeance of a woman 
( who has lost all that made life worth living, and who 
I burns with a desire to make every other woman child- 
' less. There was the sudden glitter of a knife, a sharp 
cry of terror from the captive, and then silence. In 
the morning the little prisoner was found lying 5ead, 
stabbed to the heart, whilst beside him crouched his 
step-mother, a gibbering maniac. 

This was the tragedy of my room. It was the ghost 
of the lady that was said to haunt it ; though there were 
legends which told how the cry of a child, a long low 


86 


MAULEVEEEr’s MILLION’S. 


wail of misery, had been heard in the silent night echo- 
ing through the corridors in the deserted wing in which 
the chamber stood. I glanced round upon the rich 
hangings of the wall. Had they seen that awful trag- 
edy enacted ? I remembered that for scores of years, 
perchance a century, no one had slept in this room be- 
fore to-night. It needed all my scepticism in regard to 
supernatural appearances to nerve me to that outward 
show of indifference which a man, even when no one is 
near him, regards as essential to the preservation of his 
self-respect. Before I extinguished the lights I drew 
aside the curtain of the window, the outline of which 
was made visible against the background of sky. Then 
I hastily sought my bed, and tried to compel myself to 
sleep. 

Far sooner than I had expected, sleep came. It 
seemed, indeed, that I had hardly laid my head upon 
the great square French pillow, when I was wandering 
away in dreamland. There was nothing bright or pleas- 
ant about my dream, however. I was in bed, it seemed 
to me, in the haunted room ; but I was lying wide- 
awake, and all my senses were so acutely alive that I 
was able to hear the faint ticking of the clock in the 
great entrance-hall, far, far away from this remote 
wing ; and whilst conscious that the darkness of night 
brooded all around me, I found that everywhere I 
could* see as plainly as in the daylight. Hay, more 
plainly, far ; for now doors and walls, and heavy hang- 
ings of tapestry and leather, no longer obstructed my 
vision. My eye pierced through all these things, and 
revealed to me everything which lay beyond. 

What was it that — in that strange phantasmagoria of 


mauleveree’s millions. 


87 


sleep — first attracted my attention ? Far away in some 
distant part of tlie great mansion I heard, with that 
pre ter naturally acute sense of hearing with which I 
now seemed to be endowed, a door stealthily opened. 
Some one peeped out into the darkness of the corridor. 
It was Flinter — or rather it was Flinter’s face — that I 
saw, through all the intervening doors and walls and 
passages, as I lay here in my bed in the haunted room. 
But it was Fiinter’s face — cruel, brutal, vicious — upon 
the body of a woman ; and I knew that I was looking 
upon the lady who had done murder here, where I lay 
bound in the hideous spell of this nightmare vision. 

Slowly the figure advanced. He — she — it — I knew 
not what to call it, so frightfully compounded was it of 
the real Flinter and the legendary woman — came slowly 
down the corridor, something bright and sharp glitter- 
ing in its bony hand. Though no lamp was lighted 
anywhere, it advanced with unfaltering certainty of 
step, turning round many a corner, now opening a door 
and passing a ghostly chamber into the gallery beyond, 
now climbing a stair, and now pausing for a moment to 
feel the keen edge of that hashing blade, and to indulge 
in a chuckle of devilish malice. I knew that some mys- 
terious agency had lifted me from my bed, had carried 
me down all these intricate stairs and corridors, and had 
placed me by the side of the apparition. I was follow- 
ing it unseen and silently ; conscious, too, that I had 
been suddenly endowed with the power of fiying, and 
that at any moment I could soar into the air above me. 

Suddenly I found that the figure had reached a door 
which I recognized as the outer door of my own apart- 
ments. We seemed to pass through the stout oaken 


88 


mauleverer’s millions. 


barrier, and across the little sitting-room, and then in an 
instant we had entered the sleeping-chamber, and stood 
by the side of the bed. Some one was quietly sleeping, 
with his head half buried in a great square pillow of 
down. I looked to see who the sleeper was, and with a 
thrill of horror I saw it was myself who was lying 
there. Myself ? No, I was brooding, unseen even by 
the fearful thing that I had been following, above the 
bed, hovering in mid-air, whilst my bodj^ lay below 
me, motionless, as under the spell of some mysterious 
trance. 

The horrid thing with the knife looked down with a 
grin of cruel delight upon my defenceless form. It 
was Flinter now that I saw. That woman’s disguise 
had been cast aside, and the ruffian stood there in his 
ordinary attire, with all the mean and brutal lines upon 
his face plainly visible. He looked at me closely for a 
moment, then softly he turned down the covering and 
placed his hand upon my heart. With the spell of an 
awful terror resting upon me, I watched him from 
above. Quickly he withdrew his hand, and then I saw 
the other arm upraised, the knife glittering in his grasp. 
I tried to scream ; I tried to throw my impalpable self 
between the assassin and my helpless body. I was 
powerless, frozen, lifeless. The knife descended like a 
bolt from heaven, and I saw it buried deep in my heart. 

I awoke from my terrible dream bathed in a chill 
perspiration, and shivering from head to foot with such' 
a terror — cold and ghastly — clutching at my heart as, 1 
had never felt before. I knew that at the last moment, 
as the knife fell, the spell of silence had been broken, 
and I had uttered a cry. That or sonie other sound 


mauleverer’s millions. 


89 


was still ringing in my ears. What was it? I knew 
that I had heard something — something which had 
aroused me from that fearful nightmare — and that it 
had been close to my ear; but in the agitation of my 
mind at that first moment of my return to conscious- 
ness I could not recall what it was that had aroused me. 

And then in an instant it all flashed upon my mind. 

1 I had heard a faint rustling as of a woman’s dress 
sweeping across the floor, and then there had been a 
sharp sound, such as that which is made by the quick 
closing of a tightly fitting door. Yes : now that I was 
wide-awake, I was conscious of the fact that, if that 
hideous fancy which had taken possession of my brain 
whilst I slept was but the vision of a nightmare, I had 
at least been visited in my chamber during my slumbers. 

I sprang from my bed, and, running to where I had 
seen a box of matches, struck a light, and then turned 
to survey the room. All was as it had been when I had 
lain down to sleep an hour before. All? I looked 
round upon those sombre walls through which, in my 
' terrible dream, my vision had pierced with ease. They 

gave me no hint of the secrets which they held. The 
i, door of the room was locked on the inside, just as I had 

I left it. No one could have vanished through that sub- 

i stantial barrier without leaving some trace of his pass- 

ing. I felt the leathern hangings of the walls. Behind 
them the wainscot gave forth in response to my blows a 
muffled hollow sound; but it told me nothing. And 
i yet, that some one had been with me in the room, I felt 
.certain. I no longer had any superstitious apprehen- 
' sions. It was no ghost, I Tvas well assured, that had 

I visited my bedside. I shuddered at the thought that 


90 


MAULEVERER'S MILLIONS. 


perhaps my dream had been only too real, and that it 
was FI inter who, by some mysterious means, had found 
admission to my chamber — Flinter, whose last words, as 
I accidentally overheard them when I retired to rest, 
had pointed clearly, as I now felt, to my own removal. 
It might be that he had been alarmed by my sudden 
cry at the moment when he was about to dispatch me, 
and had retired by some mysterious doorway — such as I 
was well assured existed — to wait until I was again asleep. 

Instinctively I approached the bed, candle in hand, and 
examined the pillow where a deep impression marked 
the place where my head had been laid. I almost 
thought that I could see myself lying there, as I had 
done in my vision — unconscious, silent, helpless, beneath 
the knife of the villain. I shuddered at the thought ; 
but even as I did so, I found something else to startle 
me. Lying on the bedclothes, as it seemed to me, at 
tile very place where, if I had still been sleeping, they 
would have covered my heart, was a knife. It was not 
the long, keen, glittering, well-polished deadly blade of 
my vision. It was old-fashioned, rusted, of quaint shape, 
with a clumsy handle of bone, curiously carved and 
stained. I took it up in wonder. It seemed to me that 
the handle was still warm from the grasp which had held 
it a few moments before. What did it portend ? How 
came this fearful confirmation of my dream into the 
room where it had certainly not been when I retired to 
rest? What meant all the mysteries that seemed to 
haunt this house, and to envelop all the dwellers in it? 

I stood, candle in hand, by the side of the bed, asking 
myself these questions, and as I did so my eye suddenly 
lighted upon something which was lying, apparently 


MAULEVEEER^S MILLIONS. 


01 


where it had slipped from the sloping pillow, on the 
sheet below. It was a scrap of paper — a note ! I seized 
it with eager hands, and in an instant all the craven fears 
that had been creeping into mj heart vanished. I for- 
got ghosts and nightmares, and even the hateful Flinter 
himself with his deadly knife, and with a low cry of de- 
light I pressed the little note to my lips, for I saw that 
it bore my name in the handwriting of my darling. 

With a trembling hand I opened it and read the mes- 
sage which it conveyed to me — a message written hur- 
riedly in pencil. 

‘‘ O my darling,” she said, “ it is hard, hard ; but we 
must part, just when I have found you. I knew how 
it would be if it was discovered. I knew we should 
never be allowed to meet again if they could help it. 
You must leave this place to-morrow — for your own 
sake even more than for mine. But do not suppose I 
shall forget you. I shall be free some day, I hope. God 
grant it may come soon ! Whenever it comes, you may 
depend upon me. Do not go far away, dearest, if you 
still care for me. If you go to Scarborough I shall know 
where you are ; and that at least will be some comfort. 
Good-by, darling, for I shall not be allowed to say it 
by word of mouth. But remember that I shall always 
be true to you. — Daisy.” 

There was a postscript written in characters so strag- 
gling that it was clear that they had been penned under 
the influence of some intense agitation. “ I have had 
a terrible scene with my uncle. Fie came to me when 
he left you. I could never have thought that he would 
have been so cruel.” 

How the long remainder of that night passed I can- 


92 


MAULEVEEER^S MILLIONS. 


not tell. 1 was alinost stupefied by this crowning mis- 
fortune. The secrets of the haunted chamber no longer 
troubled me ; nay, I cared nothing now for Flinter’s 
hardly concealed animosity. The thought that overbore 
all others was that, as Daisy herself had put it, I had 
found her but to lose her. In comparison with this, 
all nightmare visions, secret visitations of my bedroom, 
and even portents like the rusty knife which had so 
mysteriously been placed upon my bed, seemed of no 
consequence. 1 di-essed and sat in dreary suffering, 
waiting for tlie coming of the morn. 

Much sooner than might have been expected in the 
ordinary course of things, I heard a servant moving in 
the outer room. I was aware that 'a fire was being 
lighted, and by and by the rattle of cups and saucers 
told me that a table was being laid in the room. I was 
somewhat surprised, as I had been given to understand 
on the previous night that we would all breakfast to- 
gether in the hall below. I waited impatiently to learn 
my fate. 

I was not very long in suspense. Long before eight 
o’clock there was a tap at the door, and I opened it to 
admit the servant who came laden with hot water and 
the necessaries for my bath. He stared in amazement 
when he saw that I was up and dressed. It may have 
been that part of his astonishment was due to my appear- 
ance. I was conscious of the fact that the experiences 
of that terrible night had given me a face so haggard 
and worn that I might have been years older than I 
looked when I retired to rest. 

He made a few inquiiies as to the services I required, 
and then, in a somewhat hesitating manner, as though 


mauleverer’s millions. 


93 


lie were aware that he had unpleasant news to communi- 
cate, he said, 

‘‘ Your breakfast, sir, will be served in your own sit- 
ting-room in half an hour, or sooner, if you wish it ; and 
my master has ordered me to tell you that you will find 
a letter from him on the breakfast- table.” 

Then he retired respectfully. 

Too well I knew what the letter would say. I was 
utterly jaded and dispirited by that night of agony. 
And yet, when I thought that I was about to be expelled 
from the house which sheltered the woman I loved, and 
that I should be compelled to leave her. in the society of 
such a man as Flinter, I felt ready to do anything and 
defy everybody if I might but be with her. 

I bathed and redressed weai'ily, and then in the 
sitting-room I read the letter addressed to me from Mr. 
Mauleverer. It was very courteous, but very cold and 
emphatic. The writer said that he had learned with sur- 
prise and pain that I had been guilty of conduct which 
he would never have thought of attributing to me. I 
had, in effect, made love to his niece — his adopted 
daughter — the lady who w^as, as everybody knew, his 
destined heiress. He could have forgiven this conduct 
on my part — strongly as he must have objected to any 
marriage between me and Miss Stand iff e — if I had 
acted openly, as he should certainly have expected me 
to do. But in seeking surreptitiously to win the affec- 
tions of his niece I had adopted a course which he re- 
frained from characterizing, because he had no wish to 
wound my feelings by the use of strong language, 
but which, he regretted to say, made it impossible 
that he should continue to receive me as his guest. 


94 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


Orders had been given for the brougham to be ready 
for me at nine o’clock precisely, and it would take me 
to Lorton Station in time for the express train. He 
concluded by wishing me a polite but very formal fare- 
well. 

In my rage, humiliation, and bitterness I sat down 
and dashed off one of those impetuous letters which are 
only penned by young men in love. In it I repudiated 
with scorn the notion that the wealth of which he was 
unhappily possessed — so I put it — had anything to do 
with my love for his niece, and while expressing my re- 
gret that I had not secured his approval of my suit before 
I spoke to Daisy, I declared emphatically that, loving 
her as I did with my whole heart, I should never will- 
ingly relinquish the hope of making her my wife. 

Possibly there might be other phrases in this letter 
that were calculated to wound the natural pride of a 
man like Mauleverer. I hardly know whether this was 
so or not, for it was written whilst my mind was agitated 
by a whirlwind of passion and grief. Be this as it may, 
however, when, by and by, I was taking my seat in the 
brougham, prepared to quit Great Lorton Hall with 
crestfallen head and sullen heart, I received a letter 
from one of the servants, on opening which I found 
that my own letter had been returned to me without a 
word. In my rage and indignation at this insult, I tore 
the unlucky epistle to pieces, and, as I stamped upon 
the fragments where they lay upon the terrace, I literally 
shook the dust of Great Lorton Hall from off my feet. 

One long lingering look back I gave when the 
brougham mounted the hill. I could not see the house, 
enclosed within its red brick walls. But here were the 


mauleverer’s millions. 


95 


great elm- trees, among which the rooks were circling in 
the clear morning air. I thought that Daisy perchance 
heard their hoarse cries. When should we be so near to 
each other again ? My heart was filled with a deadly 
sense of pain, and I felt my eyes, too, filling with un- 
bidden tears. 

Two souvenirs I took with me from my visit to the 
hall. One was the rusty, old-fashioned knife I had 
found upon my bed ; the other, the precious note in 
which Daisy confessed her love for me. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

MR. FLINTER AGAIN. 

The season was beginning to wane at Scarborough. 
Harding had left the Grand Hotel some time before I 
paid my strange visit to Great Lorton, and I knew none 
of the persons who were now staying there. My posi- 
tion was not an envialile one, now that I was back again 
in the big house. It was bad enough to be oppressed 
by that sense of mystery which enveloped everything 
connected with the hall and with Mauleverer. It was 
still worse to be reminded by everything around me of 
those happy days when Daisy and I had been together, 
and when she had first learned to love me. There was 
the very spot in the hall of the hotel where I used to 
take my stand each morning, awaiting the appearance 
of hei- and her uncle on their way to the saloon. There 
were the seats, occupied by strangers now, where we 


96 


mauleverek's millions. 


had spent so many never-to-be-forgotten hours together ; 
and there, quietly riding at anchor in the bay, was the 
beautiful yacht which I had learned to hate as one of 
the tangible proofs of that wealth which divided me 
from the niece of the millionaire. I waited with an 
impatience that I could hardly control for news of my 
darling. 

It came sooner than I expected, in the shape of a let- 
ter from Dr. Branksome, enclosing one for me from 
Daisy herself. J^eed I say that I read the latter first ? 

“ My dearest friend,” she wrote, “ I must send you a 
few words, if it were only to tell you that I am well. I 
must not say much, for I feel that I am doing wrong 
even in sending you this short message. But Dr. 
Branksome has told me that he thinks I may do so, and 
much as I have loved my uncle, I cannot yield myself 
completely to his will in this. Ah, you cannot tell 
what a change there is in him since this has happened ! 
I cannot account for it. He is so different from what 
he has ever been before — so utterly unlike his old self 
— that it almost seems to me that something has hap- 
pened to transform his whole charactei’, and to change' 
the love he once professed for me into hate. I am try- 
ing to bear it patiently, for I owe so, much to him. 
But sometimes it is very hard. Dr. Branksome has 
been my friend through it all ; though even he is com- 
pelled, when my uncle is present, to hide his sympathy 
with us both. I don’t know how it will all end ; but I 
do want you to feel that you can trust me. I shall be 
true to you through everything. Please, dearest, do 
not believe any evil you may hear of me. I know I 
have my enemies, and I can’t help tliinking that they 


mauleverer’s millions. 


97 


are your enemies also. If you hear tales about me, rest 
assured that if I have erred at all it is from my love for 
you, and that nothing, neither life nor death, shall ever 
make me false to you. ^ I cannot write more ; I am 
ashamed to send you this ; but I think I know you well 
enough to be sure that you will understand all that I 
want to say to you, even though I have not the power 
of saying it aright ; and that you will believe in your 
heart of hearts that I love you above anything and 
everything else in this world.” 

I was touched and consoled by the frank and out- 
spoken language of my darling. It was what I should 
have expected from one so full of noble impulses, so 
little given to consider the mere conventionalities of 
every-day life. I felt that she must indeed love me 
with all her soul, or she could not have addressed me 
in such a strain as this. 

Branksome’s letter, too, brought me some consolation, 
though it also caused me uneasiness regarding Daisy. 
It was as follows : 

“ Dear Mr. Fenton : You will forgive me for writing 
to you on a subject which I have no doubt you regard as 
too sacred to permit of any intrusion by a stranger. But 
I have myself loved — once ; and I trust that it is not as 
a stranger that you look upon one who so long stood in 
the place of a father to Daisy. I was grieved beyond 
measure, my dear friend, by the manner in which your 
visit to this place terminated. It was, indeed, an unex- 
pected blow. As an older man than yourself, you will, I 
know, forgive me if I say that I cannot but feel that it 
would have been better if, before speaking to Daisy, you 
7 


98 


mauleverer’s millions. 


had taken me — or, still better, Mr. Mauleverer — into 
your confidence. But I acquit you entirely of any worse 
fault than that of having acted, as young lovers are so 
apt to do, upon impulse. I fear, however, that our 
good host takes a much darker view of your conduct. 
I have reasoned with him and expostulated with him 
warmly on the subject ; but so far without effect. I 
tried to speak a word to you on the morning when you 
left us, but I had been forestalled by the steps taken to 
hasten your departure. I can only say that you may 
count on me as a friend, and that I shall try, for Daisy’s 
sake as well as for your own, to put an end to the pres- 
ent distressing state of affairs. She is a brave girl, but 
she is a very proud and a very passionate one also ; and 
I sometimes tremble when I think what may be the 
consequences of the cruel and incessant persecution to 
which she is just now being subjected by a man who 
seems to have forgotten that she is the only creature 
left in this world who is bound to him by the ties of 
consanguinity. 

“I shall hope to see you before many days have 
passed, and then I can tell you more. You will, I sup- 
pose, be staying at the Grand Hotel. I shall find you 
out there before long. In the mean time, believe me, 
yours most sincerely, Francis Branksome.” 

Another week passed without my hearing anything 
directly or indirectly of the occupants of Great Lorton 
Hall. My mind, which had been soothed by the con- 
tents of Daisy’s letter, was again becoming agitated by 
the fever of impatience and uncertainty. I had sent a 
letter — a long letter, in which my whole heart was 


mauleverer’s millions. 


99 


poured out — to Daisy, addressed under cover to Dr. 
Branksome ; but no reply had come, and I was medi- 
tating some further step for the purpose of gaining tid- 
ings of her. 

One morning, however, a servant brought me word 
that a person had called to see me on particular business 
and was waiting in the hall of the hotel. I went down 
and found one of the crew of the Golden Hawk await- 
ing my appearance. He saluted me respectfully, and 
placed in my hand a note. It was unsigned, and I did 
not know the handwriting, but it was written on a 
sheet of note-paper stamped with the name of thb yacht. 
It contained only a simple message. “If you wish to 
see Dr. B., come on board tlie yacht at once.” 

The man waited a moment after I had read the note, 
and then said, 

“ The captain’s gig is on the beach, sir, if you mean 
to go on board.” 

“ Who gave you this note ?” I asked. 

“ The captain himself, sir,” was the immediate reply. 
“ And I was ‘told that you would return with me.” 

“ When did Dr. Branksome arrive ?” 

“ I don’t know, sir. I have not seen him. He 
must have come on board when I was below.” 

Of course I did not hesitate a moment. I hardly 
stopped to light a cigar before I started for the beach, 
walking with a brisker step and a gayer heart than I 
had known since I left Great Lorton — for was I not 
about to get news of Daisy? 

It was a somewhat boisterous October day ; but the 
wind was from the north-west, and the sea in the bay 
was therefore almost calm. In the offing I saw that the 


100 mauleveeer’s millions. 

passing steamers were making heavy weather of it ; but 
on shore there was nothing threatening in the appear- 
ance of the skies. Two men were waiting in the gig, 
and witli tlie help of one of the local boatmen we had 
soon pushed off and were making onr way to the yacht. 

How well I remembered my former visit to her 
when I was in the company of Daisy ! • I looked eagerly 
as we neared the stately vessel for the friendly face of 
Branksome ; but I looked in vain. He was evidently 
below, probably sheltering himself from the keen au- 
tumn air. 

As I stepped on board, one of the stewards came up 
to me, and touching his hat said, ‘‘ This way, sir, if you 
please.” 

I followed him down the gangway, and passing 
through the dining-saloon I found myself in a passage 
leading, as I remembered, to the chief saloon and to 
the lovely little boudoir which had been prepared for 
Daisy’s special use. To my surprise it was to the latter 
apartment that I was conducted. It was rather dark 
within, but some one was awaiting me, and I entered 
with outstretched hand. 

How kind of you — ” I began, and stopped sud- 
denly. It w^as not Branksome’s commanding figure 
that I saw before me. It was the short, powerful form 
of Flinter. 

I was more startled than I should have liked to ad- 
mit ; but I recovered myself as well as I could. 

‘‘ I beg your pardon,” I said, “ I came on board to 
see Dr. Branksome, who has sent for me.” 

‘‘Just soj” replied Flinter in a dry tone, beneath 
which I fancied that I detected a touch of irony. 


MAULEVEREr’s MILLIOITS. 


101 


“ Will you be kind enough to tell me where I shall 
find him 

He looked at me for a moment, and in the semi-gloom 
of the cabin, the windows of which were curtained, I 
detected a smile upon his hard bad face. There was 
something that irritated me in his manner. I had seen 
that, despite the evident confidence which Mauleverer 
evidently reposed in him, he was not treated either by 
the millionaire or by Branksome himself on a footing 
of social equality, and I knew enough of him to be 
aware that he had none of the conventional claims to 
be regarded as a gentleman. Annoyed at his silence 
and his insolent bearing, I addressed him in a different 
tone from that which I had used at first. 

“ Come, sir !” I said, “ I do not wish to keep Dr. 
Branksome waiting, and I know he expects me. Have 
the goodness to let me see him at once.” 

“ Oh, certainly ! Come this way.” He spoke still in 
the tone of veiled irony which irritated me so mucli, 
but he no longer stood like a statue. He placed his 
powerful hand lightly on my arm and led me along 
a passage, and through an open doorway which gave 
access to another short passage. There was an open 
door at the end of it, and almost before I was aware I 
had passed through it and was standing in the middle 
of the strange apartment which the Duke of Cairn- 
gorm had caused to be prepared as a punishment-cell 
when the yacht was built. 

My first impression was that Flinter was playing some 
rough jest at my expense. 

“ What do you mean by bringing me to this place ?” 
I asked. “ Dr. Branksome is not here.” 


102 


mauleverer’s millions. 


Flinter stood in the narrow doorway, which his pow- 
erful figure completely filled. 

“You are quite right, young man,” he said. “The 
doctor is not here; but you’ll find very comfortable 
quarters here until he comes — quite as good as you de- 
serve.” 

“ You insolent fool,” I cried hotly, “ let me pass !” 

I was strong, and had plenty of mere physical pluck. 
I did not hesitate a moment as 1 advanced to push him 
on one side. But before I could lay a finger on the 
ruffian I found myself seized by the collar in a grip 
which was like that of a giant. It was all in vain that 
I struggled and struck out. I was fiung with violence 
upon the floor of the cabin, and before I could regain 
my feet I heard the door close with a sharp snap, and I 
knew that I was alone in the gloomy apartment. 

Almost instantaneously, however, a small trap in 
the door, like that which is used for the purpose of 
handing food to prisoners in their cells, and whiclf for 
aught I knew to the contrary was intended to serve the 
same purpose here, was opened, and I saw Flinter’s 
hateful eyes peering at me, whilst a hoarse chuckle of 
malicious pleasure broke from his throat. 

“Well,” he said, after he had surveyed me for a mo- 
ment, “I hope you will like your quarters. Your hot 
blood will have time to cool there. Make yourself 
comfortable, young man, and don’t feel afraid of being 
starved. You’ll find plenty of good victuals on the 
table in the corner.” 

“ If this is an impudent joke,” I cried, “ it had better 
be ended at once unless you wish me to report your 
conduct to your master.” 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


103 


“Oh jes, it is a joke,” he retorted with a brutal 
laugh, “ and it seems to me it is a very good one too.” 

“Open the door instantly, or you shall pay dearly for 
your shameful misbehavior.” 

“ Pay ! yes, I’ll pay you in good time,” he replied ; 
and then suddenly the little trap-door closed with a 
click, and he was gone. I heard his retreating foot- 
steps in the passage, and shouted to him at the top of 
my voice. But even as I did so I heard a heavy iron 
door noisily shut, and then all was silence. 

I shook the door of my prison, I shouted, I stamped 
upon the floor ; I made noise enough, as I thought, to 
be heard not only throughout the vessel but for a great 
distance on the sea. But I might as well have been cry- 
ing to the winds. Either by some cunning contrivance 
all sounds proceeding from the cell were stifled forth- 
with, or those on board the Golden Hawk were taught 
to pay no heed to them. 

Exhausted even more by rage and indignation than 
by any physical exertions, I sat down at last upon the 
cushioned bench which w’as evidently meant to serve 
the double purpose of a bed and a seat, and tried to 
collect my bewildered sense and take a calm view of 
my position. What was the meaning of the stratagem 
of which I had -been made the victim? Could it be 
possible that it was really intended to make a prisoner 
of me in this violent fashion ? and if so, with what ob- 
ject was such a crime committed ? 

These were the questions which I rapidly revolved 
in my mind. Incredible as it seemed, I was neverthe- 
less forced to admit that I must answer the first in the 
affirmative. In broad daylight, and in an English 


104 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


watering-place, I had been trapped and imprisoned, 
with as little regard for my personal rights, or for the 
claims of the law, as could have been shown by the 
worst desperadoes in the wildest parts of the earth. 
And what was worse, it was at once apparent to me that 
I was utterly helpless. The fatal folly of the Duke of 
Cairngorm had provided a prison for me from which I 
could hardly hope to escape unless with the connivance 
of my jailers. And then I thought with despair of the 
fact that my abduction had been managed in such a 
fashion that no one on shore could have any reason to 
suspect foul play. I had left the hotel openly, and as I 
now remembered bitterly, with so cheerful an air that 
there could certainly have been nothing in my appear- 
ance to arouse the suspicions of the people there. I 
would be missed of course, and probably iny disap- 
pearance might be a brief wonder for the people of the 
house; but who could attribute it to anything more 
than some sudden freak ? There was no one in Scar- 
borough who took any interest in me, or who would 
feel called upon to make any inquiry into my where- 
abouts. I remembered how on that very morning I 
had looked out from my bedroom window and seen the 
Golden Hawk at anchor at the spot where she had 
lain ever since her arrival-. Many a- man would look 
out to-morrow morning and see the beautiful ship, as I 
had done, without dreaming for a moment that it was 
associated with such an outrage as that of which I was 
the victim. 

But what could be the purpose of such a crime as 
this? Only one conclusion was possible. The letters 
both of Daisy and Dr. Branksome had hinted at some 


mauleverer’s millions. 


105 


extraordinary change in the character of Mauleverer — 
something approaching, in fact, to a fit of madness. I 
was conscious of having offended no man but the mil- 
lionaire. Nobody else had any interest in keeping me 
at a distance from Daisy. And it was on his yacht that 
I was now a captive, and in the hands of a ruffian against 
whom not merely my own instincts, and the strange 
dream I had had in the haunted chamber, but my dar- 
ling’s words, had warned me, as a man with whom any 
dealings must be dangerous. I could not resist the con- 
clusion that Mauleverer, carried away by some fit of in- 
sane passion, possibly on making the discovery that let- 
ters had passed between me and his niece, had caused 
me to be seized in this violent fashion by the creature 
who was his most trusted agent. 

The more I thought over the subject the more clearly 
convinced I became that this was the real interpretation 
of Flinter’s conduct, and as I reflected upon it I felt 
that my only hope lay in the early appearance of Brank- 
some. I was convinced now that he was not on board 
the yaclit, and that his name had been merely used for 
the purpose of luring me into the cunning trap. But 
he had promised to see me soon. He had said he was 
coming to Scarborough. It was certain that business 
would bring him on board the Golden Hawk, and then 
I might hope that he would hear of the outrage which 
had been committed upon me and would come to my 
rescue. 

It is needless to speak of the unutterable tedium of 
the first hours which I spent in my gloomy prison. 
When I had to some extent recovered my equanimity 
I made a careful inspection of the place, hoping that I 


106 


MAULEVEEEK^S MILLIONS. 


might perhaps find, if not some way of escape, at all 
events the means of communicating with those on board 
the yacht. 

Tlie cabin was about nine feet square, and almost the 
first thing I discovered was that the walls were lined 
with sheet-iron. It was lighted by means of a funnel 
some four feet in length, which ran upwards at a sharp 
angle, and at tlm end of which was a thick circular 
plate of glass. It was clear therefore that my cell-wall 
was at some distance from the side of the ship. This 
little window which shed the dimmest of light into the 
cabin was fixed ; but the air in the place was by no 
means bad, and it was clear, therefore, that it was ven- 
tilated in some fashion which I could not discover. 

For a moment my heart beat more quickly when I 
found that there was a second door to the apartment, 
in addition to that by whicli I had entered it. I opened 
this door and found that it led into a small bath-room, 
provided, I presumed, for the use lE the Duke’s sons 
when his grace found it necessary to subject them to 
the discipline of the punishment-cell. . This little bath- 
room, which was plainly but completely fitted, lay be- 
tween my prison and the side of the vessel, and it was 
dimly lighted from the passage by means of which en- 
trance to the place was obtained. When I made this 
discovery I remembered having noticed on my first 
visit to the yacht that the walls of this passage also were 
lined with iron. It was clear to me at once that there 
was no escape in that direction. 

Everything appeared to be scrupulously clean ; nor 
could it be said that — allowing for deficiency of light — 
my quarters would have been at all bad if I had occu- 


mauleverer's millions. 


107 


pied them voluntarily. I had seen many an officer’s 
cabin in our big ironclads which was not to be compared 
to this either in spaciousness or in the convenience of 
its furnishing. For when my eyes had become accus- 
tomed to the prevailing twilight gloom, I had ascer- 
tained that very fair provision had been made for the 
comfort of the unlucky wight who was destined to oc- 
cupy the place. The couch which occupied one side of 
the room was capacious enough to form a commodious 
bed, and though the cushion was no doubt hard, it was 
not harder than many on which I had slept voluntarily 
in the past. A small chest of drawers, above which 
hung a glass in which, when I looked into it, I saw 
nothing but a ghastly blur of white, — the indistinguish- 
able reflection of my face, — stood near the door ; while 
at the opposite end was a folding-stool and the table to 
which Flinter had drawn my attention. 

He had not deceived me in one respect. There was, 
as he had said, an abundant supply of good victuals” 
on this table. It was covered with a white table-cloth, . 
and I could see a loaf of bread, a dish on which were 
neatly arranged a number of slices of cold beef, a bottle 
of claret, another of water, together with salt and other 
ordinary accessories of the table. It was at least evi- 
dent that my captors had no thought of starving me. 
Hay, I made a discovery that positively caused me for a 
moment to think less bitterly even of the ruffian Flinter. 
On a small shelf above the table there was a well-fllled 
box of cigars — Larranagas of the flnest brand. 

Clearly then, though I was a prisoner, there was no 
intention of subjecting me to any ill-treatment beyond 
that which was needful to keep me in close conflne- 


108 


MAULEVEEEE^S MILLIONS. 


ment. This conviction finally satisfied me that I had 
been correct in my conclusion as to tlie real reason of 
my abduction. I was the captive of the millionaire; 
but I was also his guest, and he had not forgotten some 
at least of the laws of hospitality in his treatment of 
me. 

I sat down upon my bench after this long and careful 
survey gf my prison, and again tried to think steadily, 
calmly, and clearly of my situation. My investigation 
had satisfied me that there was no means of escape from 
within, and little if any chance of being able to com- 
municate with those persons on the yacht — if such there 
were — who were not privy to my abduction. I was 
struck by the almost entire absence of sounds from 
without, and was more than ever convinced that some 
special means had been taken for the purpose of pro- 
curing the isolation of the cell. No sound of trampling 
feet on deck, no cries from the sailors, no whistle of 
wind in the rigging reached my ears. I might have 
been at the bottom of a coal-mine so far as any knowl- 
edge either by sight or sound of what was passing in the 
outer world was concerned. 

How long I had remained buried in gloomy thought, 
wondering how and when this strange adventure was to 
end, and what good purpose Mauleverer really hoped to 
serve by treating me in this lawless fashion, I cannot 
say. Suddenly, however, I heard a sound which made 
me start to my feet, trembling from head to foot with a 
new excitement. I was fond of the sea, and had made 
many a voyage in my father’s company. I did not need, 
therefore, to be told what was the meaning of the noise 
which now penetrated even the dreary silence of my cell. 


mauleverer’s millions. 


109 


It was that deep, muffled throb which marks the first 
revolution of the engine on board a steamer. 

I listened with all my senses on the alert, and very 
quickly I found that my ears had not deceived me. 
Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, the dull 
throbbing of the engines was continued, and almost si- 
multaneously I heard the rattle of the capstan, and knew 
that the anchor was being weighed. I hardly dared to 
allow my own mind to grasp the real significance of the 
sounds. I stood there, almost breathless, my ear fixed 
to the door of my cell, during minutes which seemed 
hours. But only too soon there was the fullest confirma- 
tion of my fears. To the throb of the engine was now 
added the harsher grinding of the shaft of the screw, 
whilst very soon other evidences convinced me that we 
were putting out to sea. 

Once more I raised my voice in loud cries. It had 
been terrible before, when I knew exactly where I was, 
and when I could at least feel that we were lying at 
anchor in an English bay. But now when I found that 
we were steaming away across the waves, in a direction 
which I was absolutely unable to determine, bound, it 
might be, for some port where civilized laws had no ef- 
fect, and when I remembered too that I was absolutely 
in the power of a rufflan whom I believed to be capable 
of any crime, fresh terrors seized upon my imagination. 
I exhausted myself utterly in vain attempts to attract 
Xhe attention of the crew. 

Soon, indeed, I realized the fact that if I had not 
been able to make them hear befoi-e, there was not the 
faintest chance of my doing so now. The yacht had 
passed beyond the shelter of the Castle Cliff and was 


no 


mauleverer’s millions. 


breasting the waves, which ever and anon broke upon 
its quivering sides with a roar that must have drowned 
all other sounds. The motion of the vessel increased so 
much that if I had not been an exceptionally good sailor 
I should soon have been placed hors de combat; and my 
past experience of the sea enabled me even in my 
gloomy prison-house to perceive that we were laboring 
through a heavy gale from the nor’-west. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A STRANGE VOYAGE. 

I LOOKED at my watch. To my surprise I found that 
it was only one o’clock in the afternoon. I had heard 
the church clocks striking ten when I first stood on the 
deck of the yacht. My imprisonment, which seemed to 
have lasted for an age, had really so far continued for 
rather less than three hours. The panic — for I can call 
it nothing else, though it is with shame that I make the 
confession — into which I had been thrown when I first 
knew that we were putting out to sea subsided with a 
suddenness that surprised even myself. Perhaps it was 
the calm of despair that took possession of my breast. 
At all events I succeeded for the moment in driving 
all agitating ideas out of my mind. I assumed the airs, 
of a philosopher. I could not help myself, it was cer- 
tain ; and why, therefore, should I continue to expend 
my strength in fruitless attempts to baffle my fate ? For 
the present, at least, no bodily harm was intended to 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


Ill 


me. It would be wiser, therefore, to accept the situa- 
tion and await events. 

Full of this new composure, I began to take notice of 
the fact that I was hungry, and that food was at my 
elbow. I turned to the table and observed there for 
the first time that which I ought to have seen before. 
Guards had been put upon the table before the food was 
to have been placed on it, so that even the bottles were 
kept in their places despite the heavy rolling of the vessel. 

I satisfied my hunger, and then — why, then I remem- 
bered the cigar- box. I remembered, too, that I had in 
my pocket a box of wax-matches. In another minute 
I was lying on the couch, in as easy a position as it was 
possible to maintain under the motion of the vessel, en- 
joying one of the very best cigars I had ever smoked. 

I shall not infiict upon my readers all the phases of 
the long, deep reverie in which I indulged whilst one 
cigar after another vanished in smoke. At times I 
awoke as from a dream to a sense of the extraordinary 
and alarming position in which I found myself, and 
then I rose and rushing to the door shook it violently to 
see whether by any accident it might have been opened 
as I lay in silence on my couch. But, for the most part, 
I maintained the composure which fell upon me after I 
knew that we were fairly out at sea, and allowed my 
fancy to run riot in those imaginary meetings with my 
darling which form the solace of all absent lovers. 

By and by the gloom of my room grew deeper and I 
knew that night was stealing on. I struck a match and 
looked at my watch. It was five o’clock. These four 
liours had passed more quickly, and despite the gale 
which the ship was encountering, far more comfortably 


112 


mauleverer's millions. 


than the three hours that had elapsed between my cap- 
ture and the commencement of our voyage. I was 
tliinking somewhat wofully of the long hours of dark- 
ness which now lay before me, when noiselessly and in- 
stantaneously a flood of silvery light filled the . cabin. 
Startled by its sudden appearance, I looked up, only to 
discover that an electric light was shining above my 
head in its pear-shaped glass. It was only when this 
happened and when I felt all the comfort of being at 
last able to survey my abode at ease — foi- the artificial 
light was far brighter than the natural one had been — 
that I realized the striking apprehension with which I 
had regarded the prospect of a night spent in absolute 
darkness in such a place. 

“ If I only had a book now,” I said to myself, “ and — 
why yes, I should really enjoy a cup of tea. Surely the 
millionaire would not begrudge me that if he knew how 
much I should relish it!” 

Hardly had the words passed my lips than I heard 
the click of a key, and then I saw that the little trap in 
the door had been opened and that Flinter was regarding 
me with a sardonic smile upon his ugly face. All au- 
thorities on the subject are agreed as to the surprising 
effect which solitary confinement has in taming a man’s 
spirits. I found now that the authorities were right. 
Instead of making a wild dash at the spot where the ill- 
omened countenance of my captor was visible, I sat still 
and merely indulged myself with a silent stare of disdain 
in return for his grin of derision. 

He sniffed audibly, inhaling the fumes of tobacco 
with which my little room was filled. 

‘‘ Enjoying yourself pretty well, it seems to me. You 


mauleverer’s millions. 


113 


do right. No good in kicking when you can only hurt 
yourself by it. Be civil and quiet and you won’t be 
kept so long perhaps as you suppose where you are now. 
I came to see if you would like some dinner.” 

‘‘ Dinner!” I said. ‘‘I thought the meat you left for 
me was intended for my dinner ; and I really found it 
very good.” Seeing that I had given up for the present 
the thought of trying violence, I felt it better to keep 
up in his presence the air of philosophic coolness which 
I had adopted for my own comfort. 

“ No : lunch,” he replied sententiously. “ You’ll have 
good victuals here if you only behave yourself. If you 
give me your promise to keep quiet. I’ll bring you your 
dinner as soon as it is ready.” 

I hesitated for a moment, troubled by the thought of 
keeping any terms with such a ruffian, but then I some- 
what sullenly gave him the promise he asked. He im- 
mediately disappeared. 

In about half an hour he returned, and throwing open 
the door entered with a tray which he balanced as the 
ship rolled as cleverly as a steward on board a Cunard 
liner could have done. In a surprisingly short space of 
time he had cleared away the remains of my morning 
meal, and had laid upon the table a dinner such as few 
captives, I venture to say, are indulged with. 

Ship’s rolling too much for me to bring you any 
soup ; but there’s fish and cutlets and partridge, cheese 
and celery, and a pint of champagne. It’s as good a din- 
ner, I bet, as you would have got in Scarborough.” 

“Very good indeed, I am sure. It is of no use, I 
suppose, asking you, Mr. Flinter, why I am here he 
8 


114 


mauleverer’s millions. 


shook his head ; “ but at least you might tell me where 
I am going.” 

“No use asking questions,” he responded shortly. 
“ Because why : I never answer ’em. So that’s plain. 
But if you keep quiet, as I’ve told you already, you shall 
be as well served with food and drink as if you were the 
old man himself. Now is there anything more you want ?” 

“ I should like a book to read.” 

“ A book ! Oh yes ; if that is all, you shall soon have 
a book. Bless me. I’ll bring you an armful the next 
time I come, if only it will keep you quiet.” 

He left me to partake of my dinner in solitude. I 
did justice to it, and despite my unpleasant situation 
and my dislike, not to say dread, of the ruffian who was 
responsible for my imprisonment, I felt almost cheerful 
when he presently returned, carrying nearly a dozen 
volumes in his arms, in addition to some blankets for 
my use during the night. 

“ There’s books for you !” he said, tumbling them in 
a pile on the chest of drawers. “ Make what you can of 
them : tliey’re nothing in my line.” 

And right eagerly did I avail myself of his invitation 
to do so, when I was once more left alone. It was true 
that I was disappointed with Mr. Flinter’s choice in lit- 
erary matters. One of his volumes was a list of the 
Boyal Yacht Squadron, two more were works relating 
to the art of navigation, a fourth was nothing more than 
a series of tables of logarithms, a fifth was an odd volume 
of that venerable work, Bussell’s History of Modern 
Europe ; then there was a well-thumbed copy of 
“ Buchan’s Domestic Medicine,” a Dictionary, a copy 
of Thomas Moore’s poems, and, last of all in the pile, 
Guy and Ferrier’s “ Forensic Medicine.” 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


115 


It was this book which, though it was at the bottom 
of the heap, attracted me first. It did so partly be- 
cause it was the only work which had a modern appear- 
ance in the collection, and partly because my own medi- 
cal studies had given me an interest in it. The rest of 
the books were old and battered. I could not imagine 
how they had been introduced into such a palace as the 
Golden Hawk. The copy of “ Forensic Medicine” was 
in good preservation, and was evidently the latest edi- 
tion of that standard work. 

I took it into my hands and turned to the title-page. 
It was the edition, I saw, of 1875. The binding was 
quite new, and the pages were clean. The book appar- 
ently had hardly been opened. I was holding it lightly 
in my hand whilst I speculated as to how such a volume 
chanced to have come here, when I found that it had 
opened, almost, as it seemed to me, of its own accord, at 
a particular page. I knew in a moment what had hap- 
pened. When the volume was first bought it had evi- 
dently been opened at this page, and the reader, who- 
ever he might be, wishing to keep it open there, had 
bent the stiff new back in sucli a way as to make some- 
thing like a spring of it — a spring which, when the 
volume was held in a certain way, caused it always to 
open at one particular place. Any of my readers who 
cares to destroy the outward appearance of a new book 
may by a simple experiment satisfy himself of the pos- 
sibility of doing this. 

What was the subject which the person, who had ap- 
parently looked at no other part of the volume, had 
been studying? 

I glanced carelessly down at the printed page, and the 


116 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


first word I saw was “ Strychnia.” Strychnia, poison ! 
Wild thoughts coursed instantaneously through my brain. 

I saw that the chapter which some one had been study- 
ing with the closest care — for the pages were well 
thumbed — was that in which the whole subject of poison- 
ing by means of strychnia, the symptoms, the dose, the 
fatal period, and the appearances, are treated 

with masterly precision. 

What did it mean ? Let my reader place himself in 
my position, a prisoner absolutely at the mercy of a man 
whom I honestly believed to be capable of any crime, if 
he wishes to understand the dark and terrible fancies 
which forthwith took possession of my brain. Who 
could have bought this book merely in order to study 
the subject of poisoning by strychnia with an innocent 
intention ? That was the first question I asked myself. 
Once more I remembered the awful words of Gregson. 

Was it possible that murder w^as really about to be done 
at Great Lorton Hall ? Hay, as the man whom I knew 
to be the only one likely to commit such a crime was on 
board the Golden Hawk at this moment, might it not 
be the case that the crime had already been committed, 
and that whilst he was flying from justice he had carried 
me with him to prevent my being of any service to 
Daisy or her uncle ? And if there had been murder, 

who was the victim ? Was it the millionaire ? Or was 
it — could it be — my darling? 

I sat dazed and helpless for a time under the horror 
of this new train of thought. But I was now face to - 
face with a problem which demanded the full use of all 1 

my faculties. If I were to deal with it to any useful i 

purpose, I must treat it with all the coolness and delib^ ^ 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


117 


oration of which I was capable. Gently closing the 
book, I flung my cigar aside, and going to the bath-room 
bathed my head in the cool refreshing water of which 
there was apparently an unlimited supply. Then I 
came back to my seat and carefullj'' tried an experiment 
which had occurred to me. 

Laying the closed book on its back on the palm of my 
hand, I allowed it again to fall open at its own will. 
Once more it opened at page 586, and again I read that 
flrst sentence of the page, which describes how ‘‘ The 
patient complains of a choking sensation, and of thirst 
and dryness of the throat ; but the effort to drink often 
occasions rigid spasms of the muscles of the jaw. Some- 
times there is foaming at the mouth, and the froth may 
be tinged with blood,^’ etc., etc. 

I repeated the experiment in another manner; the 
result was the same. I tried, it again and again, and 
always the volume opened at the same page. Yes, it 
was quite clear to me now that the owner of this book 
had bought it for the simple purpose of studying the 
subject of poisoning by means of strychnia. All the 
pages of the volume, it is true, were cut open, but it 
w^as only at this part of it that there were any of those 
unmistakable signs which showed that it had been read 
and studied with care again and again. 

I read the whole chapter through with attention, and 
it says something I think for my command over my 
own nerves that I did not forthwith fancy that I was 
myself suffering from that “feeling of suffocation’^ 
which is described as the earliest symptom after, the 
poison has been swallowed. For I could not drive out 
of my mind the possibility that this accidental discovery 


118 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIOI^S. 


might have the deepest personal interest for myself. 
If I had fallen into the hands of a murderer, what as- 
surance had I that he might not try his frightful arts 
upon me ? The thought was one that it was difficult to 
face with composure. I began to realize what is the lot 
of the captive who lies in peril of his life, and who 
is powerless to defend himself against the unknown 
doom which may be hanging over him. 

Terrible was the long night through which I now 
passed. The gale had evidently risen to a great height ; 
and the motion of the vessel was such as to be distress- 
ing even to the most experienced of sailors. In place 
of the dead silence of the morning my prison-cell was 
now filled with that indescribable tumult of sound that 
marks the progress of a battle between a good vessel 
and a raging sea. I could hear the shriek of the wind 
and the roar of the waves, whilst, even above these 
sounds rose that constant groaning and creaking of the 
straining timbers which showed how hardly the ship 
was beset by the storm. I could feel too the fury of 
the blows which each successive wave delivered against 
the side of the yacht. A storm at sea is an awful thing 
to the landsman at the best of times. Let my reader 
try if he can conceive what this storm was to me — held 
like a ’’at in a trap in the middle of the laboring 
vessel. 

Yet despite my fears and the tumult all around me 
I slept, and my sleep was strangely free from those 
hideous dreams of which I had been apprehensive. 
When I awoke at last the bright light of the electric 
lamp had disappeared, and some faint rays from the 
outer sky were entering my cabin through the funnel 


mauleveeer^s millions. 


119 


which served the purpose of a window. I looked at 
my watch and discovered that it was nine o’clock. To 
my great joy, too, 1 found that the sea had fallen, and 
that the yacht was making comparatively steady prog- 
ress through the waters. 

It is no part of my purpose to inflict the whole story 
of my imprisonment upon the reader. ITothing indeed 
could be more monotonous — or more terrible in its 
monotony — than the manner in w'hich my days were 
passed. Thrice during this second day I was visited by 
Flinter bringing food. I hardly spoke to him, and he 
made no attempt to open a conversation with me. I 
was still absorbed in an attempt to put together the 
various pieces of that strange puzzle, the first bit of 
which that had been put into my hands was my meet- 
ing with Daisy and Gregson at the York railway-sta- 
tion, and the last the discovery of the passage on 
Strychnia in the work on forensic medicine. That 
there was some strange unity of significance in all that 
had happened to me since I first saw my darling was a 
conviction that was slowly forcing itself upon my mind. 
Never before in my peaceful life had I been even 
remotely associated with anything in the nature of a 
mystery ; but now for some weeks I had been literally 
dwelling in the midst of mysteries. Hour after hour 
passed whilst I tried to hit upon some key which should 
make the whole strange and jumbled story plain. But 
I labored in* vain. There was only one point of which 
in my heart of hearts I was as certain as of my own 
existence. That was that, come what might, nothing 
could ever be revealed which would cast a shadow of 
shame upon the name of the girl whom I loved. 


120 


, mauleveeer’s million's. 


Day after day went by in the same painful and hope- 
less round, and I began to despair of ever again being 
released from my hateful prison-house. It was more 
than a week since we had left Scarborough. Where we 
now were I could not form the faintest conception. I 
knew that we had once stopped for an hour or more, 
and I guessed from the perfect stillness of the vessel 
that we had entered some harbor. I was conscious 
too of the fact that ’ it was now much colder than it had 
been when we left England, and I had been thankful 
for the additional rugs with which my jailer had sup- 
plied me. But Flinter evaded all my attempts to elicit 
from him any information as to our whereabouts. Hor 
would he give me the faintest hint of when I might 
hope to be released from my captivity. 

Ten days of an imprisonment, so close as mine was, 
began to tell not merely upon my spirits but upon my 
physical health. My appetite failed utterly, and I hardly 
touched the delicacies with which Flinter, to do him 
justice, kept my table abundantly supplied. I found my- 
self daily growing weaker, and the victim of an apathy 
which was altogether alien to my nature. In plain Eng- 
lish, I was cowed and broken by the treatment to which 
I had been subjected. I no longer even spoke to Flinter 
on his periodical visits to my cell. 

It was when I was in the midst of one of my worst 
fits of dejection that the event which I had so ardently 
longed for took place. I was aroused one morning, 
shortly before noon, by the noisy opening of the great 
iron door which barred the entrance to the passage lead- 
ing to my place of confinement, and for the first time 
since I had entered the accursed hole I heard the sound 


mauleverer’s millions. 


121 


of voices outside. They were speaking in quick, ex- 
cited, and even angry tones. 

Before I had time . to realize what was coming, the 
door of my room was thrown open, and, to my intense 
amazement, I saw Dr. Branksome standing before me. 

“ My God !” he cried, in an agitated voice, whilst he 
advanced and took my hand, “he has not been lying, as 
I hoped might be the case ! And you have been here — 
a prisoner — ever since we sailed ! This is monstrous ! 
Oh, if I had only known ! But come ! — come at once, my 
poor fellow, and let me give you back your liberty !” 

“Ah, doctor,” I cried, in a tone the feebleness of 
which startled even myself, “how I have longed for 
you ! I knew that you would save me if you could.” 

“ My dear fellow, don’t exhaust yourself,” he said, 
still visibly agitated. He placed his arm round my 
waist, and drawing me gently out of that black prison 
in which 1 had endured so much, led me into the ma n 
saloon of the yacht. The flood of light dazzled my 
eyes ; the sound of human voices after that long spell 
of silence made all my nerves quiver. There was a 
mist before my sight, a buzzing in my ears, and a sensa- 
tion of choking in my throat. 

But Branksome was as skilful as he was gentle and 
sympathetic. 

“ Lie down here ;” and as he spoke he laid me on one 
of the soft couches of the saloon. “Good God! how 
you have suffered ! Here, take this,” and he almost 
forced a restorative of some sort down my throat. There 
was some one standing beside him whom I now recog- 
nized as Fosdyke. He had a look of deep pity on his 
face — nay, it was almost one of horror and incredulity. 


122 


MAULEVEEER’s MILLIOIfS. 


I saw the same expression on the face of the captain of 
the yacht, and of a steward, who were also in the 
saloon, ■ They seemed quite overcome at the contempla- 
tion of the crime of which I had been the victim. I 
cast my eyes round the beautiful apartment, and to my 
relief saw that the hateful Flinter was not among those 
present. 

Yery quickly I recovered my strength and com- 
posure so far as to be able to give Branksome and the 
solicitor an account of all that had happened to me since 
I received the note inviting me to go on board the yacht. 

‘‘That note — have you got it?” said Branksome, ea- 
gerly. He was manifestly resolved to know the whole 
truth regarding my abduction. I handed it to him. 

“Ah, it is Flinter’s handwriting. But, captain, how 
came it that you never mentioned until this morning 
that Mr. Fenton had been on board the yacht on the 
morning that he sailed ?” He turned with a haughty 
look upon the captain, a plain matter-of-fact seaman 
with a somewhat bloated face. More than ever was I 
impressed by the sense of power which seemed to dis- 
tinguish Branksome in all that he said and did. 

“Why, sir,” returned the seaman in manifest em- 
barrassment, “ I was told that the gentleman had left the 
ship in one of the shore-boats ; besides — well, to tell the 
whole truth upon my honor, sir, Mr. Flinter said I was 
not to mention anything about it to you. He said as 
how this gentleman was no longer friends with the mas- 
ter, and that you would be displeased if you knew he 
had been aboard.” 

“ Pshaw !” cried Branksome, impatiently. “ I could 
almost believe that the whole of you were in a conspiracy 


mauleverer’s millions. 


123 


against Mr. Fenton, and against me also. The chief 
steward knew that Flinter was supplying food to Mr. 
Fenton, and never said a word to me, simply because he 
had allowed himself to believe that the poor fellow was 
ill, and that for some reason of his own he did not wish 
his presence on board the ship to be known. Why, 
great heavens, he might have been kept a prisoner for- 
ever, so far as any of the ship’s officers were concerned. 
I never heard of such stupidity. If I had not acciden- 
tally mentioned Mr. Fenton’s name to you, captain, half 
an hour ago, and if you had not in consequence asked 
if I was speaking of the gentleman who came aboard on 
the day we sailed, God knows how long this outrage 
might have continued.” 

Dr. Branksome spoke with warmth and indignation. 
The firm mouth was angrily compressed, and his eyes 
gave emphasis to all he said. I felt that I had found a 
protector and a champion. At a sign from him the 
captain and steward left the saloon, and I found myself 
alone with the doctor and Fosdyke. 

“ I have hardly recovered from the shock caused by 
the discovery of your condition,” said the former. 

Indeed I had no thought when I heard of your being 
in confinement save instantly to release you. I have 
not, therefore, had time as yet to get the whole truth 
out of Flinter as to his extraordinary and abominable 
behavior,. Of course I shall do so, and you may depend 
upon my calling him sternly to account for an outrage 
which has brought him within the reach of the criminal 
law. That is so, I think, Mr. Fosdyke.” 

“ Certainly !” replied the lawyer. “ I should say that 
there never was a clearer case of abduction in this world. 


124 


mauleverer’s milltoks. 


Mr. Fenton, if he chooses to prosecute, may undoubt- 
edly send Mr. Flinter to jail for a couple of years at 
least.” 

May I ask,” continued Branksome, “ whether you 
are able to account to yourself in any way for this un- 
heard-of procedure ?” 

He looked earnestly at me, and evidently awaited my 
reply with interest. 

“I have formed a theory,” I said, “but I do not know 
that I ought to name it in the presence of a third per- 
son.” 

“ Oh, pray consider Fosdyke as being on the same 
footing as ourselves. So far as you are concerned, he 
knows everything.” 

There was no mistaking the emphasis with which the 
last word was spoken. 

“ Then I shall tell you exactly what it is that I have 
thought during my long and weary confinement. I be- 
lieve that Mr. Mauleverer is deeply offended because I 
have ventured to pay my addresses to his niece, and 
anxious to get me, for a time at least, out of her way, 
has arranged this outrage with Flinter.” 

Branksome looked puzzled for a moment. It was 
evident that the idea was one that had not occurred to 
him before. He shook his head slowly. 

“I cannot believe that the affair has been brought 
about in the way you describe. My poor friend Maulev- 
erer is, I know, in a very curious state of mind at pres- 
ent, and he might do desperate things in one of those 
fits of desperate passion which have visited him recent- 
ly, and which, I think, are connected with some obscure 
disease of the brain. But I should be slow to suppose 


mauleverer’s millions. 


125 


that he could ever stoop to that which is neither more 
nor less than actual crime. You have never yourself 
seen any reason to suppose that he would be guilty of 
such conduct 

“ I ? Certainly not. In all my personal relations with 
Mr. Mauleverer, up to the moment when he wrote the 
note in which he dismissed me from his house, I have 
had every reason to feel that he was one of the kindest 
of men. But you know that both you and — and — 
Daisy have thought him greatly changed of late.” 

“True, true ! and it is possible that, after all, he may 
have forgotten himself in the way you supposed ; though 
I still think you are mistaken.” 

“ As for Flintei:,” I continued, “ mark my words, 
doctor ! that man is a villain who is capable of anything. 
I should not care to trust my life in his hands, and if 
you are wise you will cease all connection with him as 
soon as possible.” 

“ I don’t wonder at your expression,” replied Brank- 
some, “ but at the same time I can hardly think so badly 
of Flinter as you naturally do. However, I shall ex- 
amine him at once, and make him reveal the whole 
truth, whatever it may be.” 

He was going to leave the saloon for the purpose of 
seeing the man from whom I had suffered so much, 
when I stopped him. 

“ Forgive me !” I said ; “ but I am quite in the dark 
as to where we are. The yacht has been at sea now for 
ten days, but for all I know to the contrary we may still 
be within a mile of Scarborough.” 

“Ho; we have not been standing still,” he replied, 
with a smile. “We are at this moment nearing the 


126 mauleverer’s millions. 

town of Bodo, on the coast of ITorway. You have been 
carried away up into the arctic regions during your 
painful sojourn in the Duke’s punishment-cell.” 

He hurriedly left the saloon, where Fosdyke remained 
with me. The lawyer explained that the trip to Bodo 
was a business one, connected with one ‘of the numerous 
European investments of Mauleverer. At the same 
time he strongly advised me to take legal proceedings 
against Flinter. ‘‘ There is not a jury in England but 
would give you swinging damages,” he declared ; and 
I quite agreed with him that the damages were due to 
me. 

But even as we were talking of this Branksome re- 
turned. He was pale, and his face wore an expression 
of the utmost gravity. 

“ My friend,” he said, “ I grieve to have to say that 
you were right in your suspicions. Benjamin Flinter 
has proved to me by documentary evidence that in treat- 
ing you in this infamous fashion he was nothing more 
than the agent, the tool, of our revered friend Maulev- 
erer. Alas ! it is incomprehensible that a man whose 
whole life was once so full of goodness should have re- 
sorted to lawlessness like this. There is only one ex- 
planation of it.” 

He tapped his forehead significantly as he uttered the 
last words. 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


127 


CHAPTEK X. 

TERRIBLE NEWS. 

Although I had all along believed this to be the true 
account of the outrage of which I had been the vic- 
tim, it was not altogether pleasant to have my suspi- 
cion confirmed. My thoughts fiew instantaneously to 
Daisy, shut up in the hall with a man who was either a 
desperate criminal or insane. 

“ Doctor,” I said earnestly, “ I have no wish to pun- 
ish Mr. Mauleverer for the cruel trick he has played 
upon me. Even if there were no other reason for spar- 
ing him, the fact that he is Daisy’s uncle would be suffi- 
cient. But I am terribly anxious about her. Has she 
no friend with her at Great Lorton ? Is it not danger- 
ous for her to remain alone with a man in Mauleverer’s 
state of mind ?” 

“ She is not alone,” replied Branksome. “ I thought 
I had told you that her old friend and companion, Mrs. 
Cawthorne, who accompanied her to England, had 
joined her at the hall. She was visiting in Derbyshire 
at the time when Mr. Mauleverer was at Scarborough.” 

I remembered to have heard Daisy speak of this lady 
in the warmest terms of affection, and I felt thankful 
that there was at least one person near her of her own 
sex, in whom she could confide. 

“It is a sad business, I fear,” pursued Branksome. 
“ I have not told you yet of all that happened after you 


128 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


left us so suddenly. Tell me, my friend : did Mr. 
Mauleverer show any symptoms of anger or even sus- 
picion whilst he was with you in the smoking-room that 
night when you stopped at the hall 

“ Certainly not. He was just as friendly and as cour- 
teous in his manner as usual.” 

“ That is bad, I fear — very bad. Will you believe 
that he had already discovered at that time what had 
taken place in the garden between you and Daisy — ” 
How could he discover that ?” I cried. 

‘‘Don’t you understand? Did you not see Flinter 
leave the garden at the same time that we did ? Ho,” 
he said, raising his hand to check my impetuous cry of 
anger, “ it would not be fair to blame Flinter for what 
he did then. Remember he is devoted body and soul 
to the service of his master. But what I feel is that 
Mauleverer’s concealment of his anger whilst he sat 
with you in the smoking-room is very bad, because it 
looks so much like the cunning of insanity. And that 
he was mad — really mad — when you left the hall, I am 
prepared upon my oath to aver. He would never other- 
wise have treated Daisy as he did.” 

I shuddered. “ Do you mean to say that there has 
been positive ill-usage ?” 

“ Aye, more than enough of it. Of course, you un- 
derstand that the poor child is neither starved nor beaten. 
But there are moral weapons which are still more cruel 
and terrible than these.” 

“ Oh, how could you leave her to his mercy ?” I cried 
in an agony of pain. “ I cannot understand how any 
one could have deserted her in such circumstances. Let 
us go back to her at once.” 


mauleverer’s millions. 


129 


“ My good fellow, keep calm,” replied the doctor, on 
whose face sympathy rather than indignation at my fiery 
language was expressed. ‘‘Do you suppose that if I 
could have been of any service to the dear child I would 
have left her as I did ? I found, however, that my 
presence for various reasons actually aggravated her suf- 
ferings; so I did what I could. I summoned Mrs. 
Cawthorne to her, and in obedience to Mauleverer’s or- 
ders I came up here to attend to his affairs.” 

“ But you say we are in the arctic regions : what can 
be the affairs of Mr. Mauleverer in this part of the 
world ?” 

“ Have you not heard of the discovery of gold in Nor- 
way ? Our friend has a very large interest in what may 
turn out to be one of the most important properties of 
its kind in the world.” 

“ Where are we at this moment ?” I asked. 

“Within half an hour of Bodo, the place where I am 
to see the agent of the mines.” 

“ You will put me ashore there,” I said sternly, for I 
was cut to the heart by the thought of Daisy’s situation. 
“ I must return to England instantly.” 

“I understand your wish;, but pray, Mr. Fenton, do 
not act rashly. You will get back to England, I imag- 
ine, quite as soon by sticking to the yacht as by adopt- 
ing any other mode of making the journey.” 

“ Thanks,” I said ungraciously ; “ but you can hardly 
be surprised that I should have no desire to remain the 
guest of Mr. Mauleverer for a single hour after I have 
the power of leaving his too hospitable ship.” 

He looked at me gravely. “Well,” he remarked 
presently, “ I shall not attempt to prevent the carrying 
9 


130 . 


mauleveeee’s millions. 


out of what I feel is a natural impulse. But now, if you 
will excuse me, I would suggest that you change your 
attire. I have ascertained that Flinter did not do things 
by halves. After you had been brought aboard the 
yacht, he sent ashore for your baggage, and I have just 
had it placed in one of the state-rooms. 

“ Upon my word,” I said, “ I shall remember my ob- 
ligations to Mr. Flinter as long as I live, and some day 
I hope I shall be able to repay them.” 

Branksome made no reply. I was conscious of the 
fact that, although very indignant at the treatment to 
which I had been subjected, he was not inclined to take 
any active part in my quarrel with Flinter. That be- 
ing the. case, I was resolved not to reveal to him those 
darker suspicions which I entertained against the villain. 
If I did so, it was just possible that the doctor might 
let drop some incautious word which would put Flinter 
on his guard. That the latter meditated murder — either 
my murder, or Daisy’s, or perchance Mauleverer’s — and 
that he had thought of using poison for the purpose, I 
was almost certain. I had not spent ten long days in 
studying that sinister chapter in the medical work with- 
out having formed a theory of my own regarding it. 

It was certainly true that I needed before everything 
else a change of attire. Although I had been able to 
indulge in unlimited ablutions in my cell, I had been 
compelled to go without any change of clothes for the 
whole period. Enraged as I was at the daring insolence 
of Flinter, I could hardly find it in my heart to rebuke 
this last instance of it, when I found myself comforta- 
bly clad in clean linen, and in a more suitable attire 
than that which I had recently been wearing. 


mauleverer’s millions. 


131 


I heard the engines stop, and the anchor-chains go 
rattling through the hawse-hole as I was putting the fin- 
ishing touches to my toilet; and immediately after- 
wards Branksome appeared at the door of the sumptu- 
ous little cabin where I had found my property, and in- 
vited me to go on deck. 

I was altogether unprepared for the scene that now 
presented itself. All around, as it appeared to me at 
the first glance, were great snow-clad mountains, glitter- 
ing under the cold sunshine in a dazzling robe of white. 
We were in a landlocked harbor, within half a mile of a 
little town, the roofs of which were heavily laden with 
the silvery snow. It was only the water in the harbor, 
and the winding channel which seemed to lead to the outer 
sea, that afforded any relief to the glittering white which 
covered the whole landscape. It was in very truth an 
arctic scene which I beheld. Ho wind was blowing, 
and I was surprised to find that the temperature was by 
no means painfully cold. It was delightful once more 
to behold the outer world. Strange and barren as was 
that land, I longed for the moment when I should set 
foot upon it, and find myself free from the accursed 
vessel which had been my prison. 

^‘I am sending ashore for our letters,” said Brank- 
8ome ; “ if you are really determined to leave the yacht 
at once you may go with the boat ; but if you will allow 
me to advise you, I should certainly recommend you to 
stay on board till the letters have been received. Who 
knows what news they may give us of affairs at Great 
Lorton ? Do not let your natural and justifiable anger 
carry you too far.” 

I yielded to the temptation, and agreed to remain 


132 


mauleverer’s millions. 


until the steward had returned from the poste-restante? 
and meanwhile I watched the strange and interesting 
scene before me with a curious eye. There was only 
one vessel in the little harbor, and all its rigging and 
spars seemed to be coated with ice. I could see men 
and women walking on the shore clad in unwieldy gar- 
ments of fur ; whilst close at hand thousands of eider- 
duck and other beautiful sea-fpwl were swimming on 
the water, or nestling on the little black rocks which 
everywhere rose just above the surface of the sea. 

Luncheon is ready, and this keen air must have given 
you an appetite.” It was Branksome who spoke. I had 
hoped that I should not have to make another meal on 
board the yacht, but I felt that I could not refuse the 
doctor’s invitation without discourtesy, so I went below. 

Certainly this meal was very different from those of 
which I had partaken lately. My companions at the 
table in the magnificent dining-saloon were Branksome 
and Fosdyke, and it was evident that they were resolved 
to do all they could to entertain me. It seemed as though 
they were anxious to make some amends for the shame- 
ful treatment I had already received on board the 
Golden Hawk. Fosdyke had an endless store of in- 
teresting anecdotes relating to criminal cases and the 
peculiarities of famous judges and counsel; whilst 
Branksome’s talk was what I had found it to be at Scar- 
borough — penetrated with a wit and an intelligence such 
as very few men with whom I have ever been in con- 
tact have possessed. 

But all conversation was stopped by the arrival of the 
letter-bag. Eidiculous as I knew that it must be to 
expect anything else, I confess that I was disapjDointed 


matjleveeer’s millions. 133 

when I found that there was nothing for me in the bag. 
I had secretly clung to the hope that Mauleverer might 
have betrayed my position to Daisy, in which case I felt 
assured that she would seek some means of communi- 
cating with. me. 

But though there was no letter for me, there was news 
from Great Lor ton Hall. My instinct told me which of 
the letters that I saw Branksome turn over when he 
received the parcel from the steward was that which 
concerned me most deeply. Yes : I remembered the 
large square envelope Daisy had used when she wrote to 
me, and across the table I could even identify my 
darling’s handwriting. 

I could not take my eyes off Branksome’s face as he 
read this letter — the first which he opened. It was not 
very long, but evidently it gave the doctor something to 
reflect upon. He read it a second time, and apparently 
pondered its contents carefully in his own mind. Sud- 
denly he looked up and caught my eyes fixed intently 
upon him. 

“ Ah ! ” he said, with a smile, 1 can understand how 
much you must wish to see what Daisy has written. 
Well, there are no secrets, so far as I can see, which 
need prevent you reading her letter and he tossed it 
lightly across to me. 

It was written in a tone of affection and confidence, 
and it related some of the events which had happened at 
the hall since Branksome left. As the letter had been 
written only some three or four days after his departure, 
Daisy had not much to tell. But to my surprise and 
relief the news she told, so far as it concerned herself^ 
was good. Her uncle, she said, had altered considerably- 


134 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


during the last two or three days. The passion and 
irritability which had marked his temper for some time 
had almost entirely disappeared. “ He is becoming more 
like his dear old self, and he no longer treats me in the 
strange, cruel way in which he did at first. Oh, I do 
pray so earnestly that this happy change may continue. 
God grant that he may yet give me back his love, and 
that the cloud which has arisen between us may pass 
away. You know, dear doctor, what I mean when I say 
that — or rather you know what I do not mean. I shall 
never prove untrue to Mr. Fenton. I have promised 
him to be faithful, and though I may never marry at all, 
I shall never marry any but him.” 

My eyes sparkled with delight as I read the dear 
words. I could tell that both Branksome and Fosdyke 
were watching me, but I could not restrain the smile 
of joy that broke upon my lips. 

“ Where can he be ?” she continued. “ I am surprised 
that I should not have heard from him again ; and some- 
times I fear that he is ill, or that some misfortune of 
another kind has befallen him. When you return to 
England do befriend me, dear doctor, and try to ascertain 
where he is. I am forced to trust everything in your 
hands now. You will not desert us both ?” There was 
a postscript to the letter which I confess I read with little 
interest compared with that with which I perused those 
passages that more immediately concerned myself. It 
ran as follows ; 

“ I should have told you sooner that my uncle has not 
been very well of late. He has not had the doctor again, 
however. He is taking the medicine the doctor pre- 
scribed when he first saw him.” 


mauleverer’s millions. 


135 


I hoped that Branksome would allow me to keep this 
letter, in which there was so much that had the deepest 
interest for me. But I was disappointed. When he 
saw that I had read it' through, he held out his hand and 
received it from me. 

“ Now, Mr. Fenton,” he said presently, “ I am going 
to reason with you. Daisy’s letter proves, I think, that 
Mr. Mauleverer is recovering his senses. You, who 
have seen him when in his ordinary state of mind, must 
know how gentle and amiable he is when free from 
mental excitement or disturbance. I want to plead with 
you for his forgiveness. Can you not see that when he 
is himself again, there will be no man living who will be 
more horrified at the thought of the outrage of which 
he has made you the victim than he will be 

I assented to what Branksome said. 

“Well, then, be generous to him. Remember his 
close connection with Daisy, and forgive him for his 
conduct, not merely by word of mouth, but in your 
inmost heart.” 

“ I am quite ready to do that ; indeed, I thought I had 
already done so.” 

“ No, there is only one way in which you can show at 
this moment that you are not unforgiving. That is by 
remaining on the yacht. Yes, I see that you do not 
like the suggestion, but before you reject it consider 
one or two points. First, then, you will unquestionably 
show a magnanimous spirit which can hardly fail to im- 
press Mr. Mauleverer in your favor when he recovers 
entirely from the excitement from which he has lately 
suffered ; next, you will be complying with what I know 
under such circumstances would be Daisy’s wish. Do 


136 


mauleveeee’s millions. 


you not see in her letter how she recommends you to 
my protection ? Well, I am ready to protect you, so far 
as I can do so, if you will follow my advice. Lastly, I 
believe that you will be able to gfet to England sooner 
by remaining with us than by any other way.” 

I wavered — and was lost. The truth is that I had no 
grievance against Branksome or Fosdyke. The former 
I had learned to like immensely and to trust entirely. 
The latter was one of the most amusing of companions. 
It was unpleasant no doubt to reflect upon the fact that 
Flinter was .one of the company on board the vessel. 
But he had carefully kept out of my way since my re- 
lease, and the ship was large enough to permit him to 
avoid me entirely if he wished to do so. I took the out 
stretched hand of Branksome and declared that I would 
finish my voyage as I had begun it, on board the Golden 
Hawk. 

Three days we lay in the karb’or at Bodo. This is 
not a story of Arctic travel, and therefore I shall not 
dwell upon the novel and interesting sights which I 
witnessed during our stay in the little port. Neither 
the novelty nor the interest of the thing, however, 
prevented my rejoicing openly when at last we started 
on our return journey. Thirty-six hours after quitting 
Bodo, we were at anchor in the port of Trondhjem, the 
ancient capital of Norway. 

We were not to remain long here ; but there was time. 
Dr. Branksome told me, to see the grand old Cathedral 
of St. Olaf, and the other sights of the place. Accom- 
panied by Branksome and Fosdyke, I went through the 
wide streets of the quaint old city. The first place we 
visited was the post-office. There was a batch of letters 


mauleverer’s millions. 


137 


here for Fosdyke and one or two for Branksome. But 
there was no further news from Great Lorton. 

“Let us go to the Hotel d’Angleterre,” said Fos- 
dyke, when we had done our sight-seeing at the Cathe- 
dral. “ Suppose that we lunch there, and have a look 
at the newspapers.” 

“ By all means,” was the simultaneous reply of Brank- 
some and myself ; and before long we were seated in 
the cosily-furnished little salon of that well-known hotel. 
The friendly waiter brought the latest copy of the 
Times — six days old — to us, and Branksome after 
courteously offering it to me, began to peruse it with 
the hungry avidity of a man who has long been shut off 
from news of the outer world. 

Fosdyke and I turned over the old illustrated papers 
which littered the table, and the well-thumbed register 
of visitors from all parts of the world, whilst ever and 
anon Branksome gave us the particulars of some inci- 
dent of interest recorded in the journal. Suddenly a 
cry of horror startled me out of the placid frame of 
mind in which I had been awaiting my luncheon. It 
was Branksome who had uttered it. I looked up and 
saw him with a white panic-stricken face, holding the 
newspaper towards Fosdyke, his hand trembling with 
emotion. He was apparently incapable of speech. 

“ In heaven’s name, what is the matter, Branksome ? 
Are you ill ?” cried the lawyer. 

“ O my God ! my God !” he groaned, “read it ! read 
it for yourself. Was there ever anything so dreadful 
in this world ?” 

Fosdyke did not seem to understand. I snatched the 
paper from Branksome^s fingers, and after a moment’s 


138 


mauleverer’s millions. 


delay I found the dreadful news which had moved him 
so deeply. This was the paragraph which I read ; 

‘‘Sudden Death. — Our Lorton correspondent tele- 
graphs to us to say that a profound sensation has been 
caused throughout the district by the news of the sud- 
den death of Mr. George Mauleverer, the Australian 
millionaire, whose purchase of the Great Lorton estate 
was recently announced in our columns. It seems that 
Mr. Mauleverer was found dead in his bed yesterday 
morning, and the appearances indicate that he died 
during a fit of epilepsy to which it is rumored that he 
was subject. It is not thought likely that any inquest 
will be held. Mr. Mauleverer had only recently settled 
in England, his vast fortune having been accumulated 
in Australia, where he was well known as the wealthiest 
of the squatter aristocracy. He leaves behind him a 
niece who resided with him at Great Lorton Hall. Mr. 
Mauleverer during the short period of his residence on 
his Yorkshire estate had endeared himself to his tenan- 
try by his liberality and kindliness. He had, however, 
been in ailing health almost ever since his arrival in 
England. Nothing is known as yet as to the disposition 
of his immense wealth.” 

We sat utterly paralyzed by the sudden blow that had 
thus fallen upon us. Even I, although I had no great 
reason to feel drawn towards Mauleverer, was stunned 
by the greatness and unexpectedness of this calamity. 
Fosdyke was manifestly agitated and incredulous, unable 
to realize what it was that had happened. As for Brank- 
some, his face was ghastly. All the brightness had 
faded out of it, and he sat with drawn features, pallid 
lips and eyes wide open, staring into space. After that 


MAULEVERteR’s MILLIONS. 


139 


muffled cry of horror he had seemed to be literally in- 
capable of speech. 

I don’t believe it !” cried Fosdyke at last. “ It is 

some d d infernal lie of the newspapers. Eh, Brank- 

some, don’t you think so, too ? For God’s sake, man, 
don’t let this upset you ! I’ll telegraph at once.” He 
started up as though about to leave the room for that 
purpose. 

Branksome feebly raised his hand to stay him. 

“Don’t go,” he said, almost in a whisper; “for the 
love of heaven do not leave me yet.” 

There was something in his tone that made me feel 
that I was de trojp, I had no right, I saw, to intrude 
upon such grief and horror as his. I got up quietly and 
stole out of the room. I went out into the street, where 
the snow was lying, and walked up and down bare- 
headed, regardless of the cold, trying to collect my 
thoughts, and realize what it was that had happened. 

And my first clear idea was one of which at the time 
I felt ashamed — of which I am even more ashamed now 
after the lapse of years. I forgot all about Mauleverer 
himself, and only grasped the idea that at last the ob- 
stacle which stood between Daisy and myself had been 
removed. There was nothing now to prevent our mar- 
riage. 

Nothing ? Yes. I remembered myself. There was 
the dark shadow of Mauleverer’s gold. Even now — from 
his grave I felt well assured that with his dead hand he 
would strive to keep us asunder. 

The thought of Daisy had quickened my intellect, 
and I saw that there was at least one step which I ought 
to take. I went back to the little room where I had left 


140 


matjleveeee’s millions. 


Branksome and Fosdyke. I found them engaged in 
conversation of the most earnest description, carried on 
in those low tones which, when the shadow of bereave- 
ment lies heavy on a man, he naturally adopts. They 
looked up when I entered as though they scarcely rel- 
ished my intrusion. Fosdyke at all events could scarcely 
conceal his impatience. I made a hasty apology, and 
seizing my coat and hat left the room. Five minutes 
later I was in the telegraph office, writing a message 
to my darling, in which I expressed my sorrow at hear- 
ing the news of her bereavement, and my hope that 
• within a few days we might meet again. 

As I waited whilst the clerk checked the message, my 
thoughts were naturally busy with that solemn event 
which had in a moment robbed Mauleverer of all his 
wealth and reduced him to the common level of our 
poor mortality. He had been dead now just a week. 
Probably this was the day of his funeral. My imagina- 
tion took wings across the storm- tossed Northern sea, 
and I saw in fancy the funeral procession starting from 
that gloomy old hall among the Yorkshire wolds, with 
one slight girlish figure, draped in black, following the 
coffin of the man at whose riches all the world had 
wondered. ‘‘ O my darling,” I cried in my heart, “ why 
am I not with you to help you to bear your sorrow, and 
to drive away that sense of loneliness which is never felt 
so keenly as by the side of an open grave ?” 

And then like a fiash of lightning there darted through 
my brain the remembrance of the words spoken to me 
by Gregson in the railway-carriage, and of all the sinis- 
ter portents that had attended my visit to the hall. Up 
to that moment I had regarded the rich man’s death as 


mauleverek’s millions. 


141 


any other person would have done who had read the 
paragraph in the Tiifms, But now, in an instant, I 
saw it all. Fool that I was, not to have seen it sooner! 
Mauleverer had been murdered ! 

Murdered ! but how and by whom ? One man there 
was whom I suspected above all others. But he was 
here, more than a thousand miles from the spot where 
the evil deed had been done. Even if I could have been 
told by a revelation from heaven that Flinter had slain 
Mauleverer, I should have had to acknowledge that the 
thing was impossible. The arm of the assassin may be 
long ; but it cannot reach across hundreds of leagues of 
stormy sea in order to strike its coward’s blow. Yet whilst 
I reflected on all the perplexing contradictory facts, my 
conviction that Flinter was guilty grew and grew, until 
it took possession of my whole frame, and quite sud- 
denly the explanation of the difficulty which had troubled 
me became clear to my mind. He had an accomplice — 
some one whom he had left behind him at Great Lorton 
and through whom he had slain the man he professed to 
love with so dog- like a fldelity. 

“ Ah ! Mr. Flinter,” I said to myself with a bitter 
smile on my lips, “ you little thought what a pitfall you 
were digging for yourself when you lured me on board 
the Golden Hawk. If I had never been your prisoner 
I should never have been able to confound you as I am 
about to do.” 

I took up one of the blank telegraph forms on the 
table of the little office and wrote huriledly as follows : 

Chief Constable^ Barton^ Yorkshire: 

If Mauleverer’s symptoms apparently those of epi- 


142 


mauleveree’s millions. 


lepsy I strongly urge post-mortem examination. Have 
grave reason to suspect foul play. Return to England 
immediately. 

Fenton, yacht Golden Hawk. 

When in the dark after-days I recalled the moment 
when I penned the lines which were destined to influ- 
ence in so terrible a manner not only my own life, but 
tlie lives of so many other persons, and when in my 
agony I cried aloud to God for forgiveness for the evil 
I had wrought unwittingly, I never failed to remember 
one fact. That was, that I seemed to have written that 
fatal message under the inspiration of some will outside 
my own. It was done in’ an instant, before I had even 
attempted to weigh the act itself or its possible conse- 
quences ; and I was once more under the roof of the 
Hotel d’Angleterre before I fully realized the step 
which I had taken. 

There is no need to dwell upon our hurried departure 
fi’om Trondhjem. Branksome had recovered his calm- 
ness and self-possession before we sailed that evening ; 
but it was evident that the terrible event of which we 
had heard so unexpectedly fllled him both with sorrow 
and anxiety. He was very friendly in his manner to me ; 
but neither he nor Fosdyke was now disposed to lighten 
the passing hours with the gay sallies of talk and story 
which had been so frequent before. They spent the 
greater part of every day deep in consultation with each 
other in Branksome’s private state-room, and I soon 
found that Flinter was not unfrequently admitted to 
their confidence. 

We had been three days at sea. In another four-and- 


mauleverer’s millions. 


143 


twenty hours we ought to be at Hull, and in a few hours 
more I would see Daisy. I was counting those hours as 
I paced the deck after dinner under the frosty starlit 
sky, when I was told by one of the stewards that Dr. 
Branksome wished to speak to me at once. 

I found him in the handsome cabin which was nomi- 
nally set apart for the private use of the owner of the 
ship. To my surprise Flinter was with him as well as 
Fosdyke. I was struck by the extreme gravity of Brank- 
some’s face when I entered the room. Fosdyke seemed 
to be worried and nervous ; whilst as for Flinter, he re- 
ceived me with a scowl of hatred that he made not the 
slightest attempt to conceal. 

“ Mr. Fenton,” said Branksome, who was standing and 
whose stately figure seemed to fill the whole cabin, “ it 
has just come to my knowledge, within the last hour, 
and by the purest accident, that you despatched a mes- 
sage by telegraph from Trondhjem, after hearing the 
terrible news of Mr. MaulevereFs death. I am very 
sorry to take what you may possibly regard as a liberty ; 
but I have to ask you if you will kindly inform me con- 
cerning the nature of that message and the person to 
whom it was addressed.” 

• I colored up and looked round in some embarrassment. 
Branksome’s dark eyes were bent upon me in a gaze 
which, to say the least, was singularly grave and almost 
stern, whilst Fosdyke, impatiently biting his finger-nails, 
seemed bursting with anxiety to hear my answer. I did 
not look at Flinter ; but I knew well enough the spirit 
of which he was possessed. 

For a moment I hesitated, and thought of declining 
to reply to the question. But I felt that I had no right, 


144 


mauleveker’s millions. 


after the way in which I had been treated by Branksome, 
to deal with him otherwise than frankly. 

“ I telegraphed, Dr. Branksome, to Miss Stancliffe. It 
was a simple message of sympathy and an intimation that 
I hoped to see her before long.” 

Fosdyke continued to gnaw his finger-nails restlessly. 
Dr. Branksome’s face did not change by a single hair’s 
breadth. 

“And that was the only message you sent?” he said 
gravely. 

“ No, sir ; it was not the only message,” I answered, 
annoyed and embarrassed, yet feeling that my best plan 
was to tell everything. “ I sent another message to the 
chief constable at Barton to tell him that I suspected 
that Mr. Mauleverer had been poisoned.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

I MEET DAISY ONCE MORE. 

There was a hoarse cry of anger, — a growl such as 
might have broken from the throat of a wild beast, — 
and almost instantaneously I found myself borne down 
to the fioor, where I lay with Flinter’s hands grasping 
my throat and his knees firmly planted on my body. I 
had hardly realized my position, however, when I saw 
Branksome throw himself upon the rufiian. Fosdyke 
also came to my assistance, and after a short, sharp 
struggle I was released from a grasp which, if it had 
been continued much longer, might have put a prema- 
ture end to my adventures. 


MAULEVERER'S MILLIONS. 


145 


Branksome’s indignation against Flinter was great; 
but it was not to be compared with that which Flinter 
evidently entertained against me. For the moment he 
seemed altogether to have lost his self-control, and I 
verily believe that if Branksome and Fosdyke had not 
been on the alert, he would there and then have mur- 
dered me before their eyes. 

“Curse you! curse you!’’ he cried, shaking his 
clinched fist at me, whilst passion of the most frightful 
character blazed from his evil eyes. “May I be lost 
forever if I don’t pay you for this !” 

There is no need to inflict upon my readers the hor- 
rible imprecations he launched against me, or the foul 
epithets he applied to me. For some minutes Brank- 
some and Fosdyke continued to remonstrate with him 
unavailingly. At last, however, he lapsed into a state 
of sullen calm, though his bloodshot eyes, his swollen 
veins, and the spumy froth that gathered at the angles 
of his mouth showed that he was still under the influ- 
ence of the frenzied excitement which had led him to 
attack me. 

So soon as Branksome was able to leave Fosdyke in 
sole charge of the ruffian he turned upon me, and in 
language the sternness of which astonished me, he 
said : 

“ You see the effect your statement has had upon this 
man. Probably you see in it some confirmation of the 
extraordinary suspicions you appear to entertain regard- 
ing him. I know not and I care not whether it is so ; 
but this I must tell you, Mr. Fenton, that to your dying 
day you will regard with horror and remorse the act to 
which you have just confessed.” 

10 


146 


mauleverer’s millions. 


“ What do you mean by such a statement ? Surely I 
had a right — ” 

‘‘ Enough, enough, sir !” he cried in a voice which I 
hardly recognized as liis. “ Excuse my inability to talk 
to you in conventional tones or terms. But I cannot 
bandy words with you at present. God in His mercy 
grant that something may yet happen to avert the evil 
which it is but too certain that you have done by your 
inexcusable conduct.” 

I tried to justify myself, but it was in vain. Feeling 
more like a culprit than I had ever done in my life 
before, I left the cabin and went to my own state-room. 
I am not a coward ; but I confess that I passed an un- 
easy night, knowing that Flinter was on board the yacht. 
At every moment I expected to hear his footstep by the 
side of my berth, and to feel his hands upon my throat. 

Neither Branksome nor Fosdyke had much to say to 
me next day. Fosdyke’s nervousness was unmistakable, 
and when I spoke to him he answered in monosyllables. 
Branksome was grave and preoccupied. His manner 
to me was courteous, but decidedly cold. When after- 
noon fell we were running up the Humber, over which 
a light November fog hung, adding to one’s depression 
of spirits. In another hour I knew that I should be 
free from the yacht. I could not bear the thought of 
parting on unfriendly terms from Branksome. I had 
fallen completely under the sway of the man’s character, 
and had recognized that fascination to which Daisy and 
all others who knew him well had succumbed before 
me. It was almost humbly that I approached him now, 
and asked him to pardon me if I had been guilty of any 
indiscretion in sending the telegrams from Trondhjem. 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


147 


He looked at me for a moment with that searching, 
fearless gaze which was characteristic of the man. 
Then he spoke : 

“ It is I who ought to ask you to pardon me, Mr. 
Fenton. I undoubtedly was guilty of a breach of good 
manners in speaking to you as I did last night. But I 
was agitated to an extent of which you can know noth- 
ing. You ask me whether you were guilty of an indis- 
cretion in sending that message to the Barton police. 
Ah, sir, I dare not hint even to you the terrible suspi- 
cion that fills my mind, and that has intensified a 
hundredfold my grief at the death of my benefactor. 
If you knew the feeling of apprehension with which I 
am awaiting our arrival in port and the news we may 
find there, you will not wonder that I lost control of 
myself last night. I can only say now as I said then, 
God grant that my worst fears as to the possible con- 
sequences of your act may not be verified !” 

What did his strong language mean ? It was Evident 
that he was resolved to. leave events to interpret it. 
Full of trouble and perplexity, I waited with impa- 
tience for the moment when we should arrive in port. 

As we slackened speed ofi the entrance to the docks 
I saw a boat containing the customs and other officials 
of the port putting out to meet us. In the prow of the 
boat was a telegraph-messenger. Branksome, Fosdyke, 
and I stood side by side, leaning over the bulwarks of 
the yacht and awaiting the approach of the little craft. 
There was none of that joyous excitement which usually 
prevails on board a vessel entering port after a voyage. 
Our tongues were silent, and our faces showed too 
clearly the anxiety that possessed our minds. Above 


148 


mauleverer’s millions. 


US the leaden cloud of fog hung like a pall. Its deso- 
lation and gloom seemed to have taken possession of 
our hearts. 

We heard the measured beat of the oars as the boat 
drew near, and we could see the features of the men 
occupying it. To me they seemed to wear an air of 
stern preoccupation. It was only the innocent little 
telegraph-boy in the prow of the boat who seemed alto- 
gether careless and unconcerned ; and yet, too probably, 
he was the messenger of doom, whose coming we 
dreaded. 

The gangway had been lowered, and the customs and 
health officers came quickly aboard, saluting us as they 
did so. They were followed immediately by the tele- 
graph-messenger. 

“Mr. Fenton here?” I snatched from his hand the 
envelope he held towards me, and without waiting to 
see if he had any message for Branksome and Fosdyke, 
I turned away to read that addressed to myself. 

It was from the chief constable at Barton, and was 
very brief. “ Thanks for message. Shall be glad of 
personal interview at earliest convenience.” « 

I felt relieved. After all there was nothing very ter- 
rible in this despatch — nothing to justify the dark fore- 
bodings of Branksome. Yet with the feeling of relief 
was mingled a sense of disappointment. I had hoped 
that possibly I might have received a message from 
Daisy. 

I turned to look for Branksome, but could see noth- 
ing either of him or Fosdyke. At that moment one of 
the persons who had boarded us in the customs boat 
came up to me and entered into conversation. 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


149 


“ Perhaps you would like to see the evening paper, 
sir. I got it just as we left the landing-stage. You will 
find in it the latest news about the Great Lorton mys- 
tery. But, by the way,” he continued, as though a 
sudden light had broken upon his mind, “ the Golden 
Hawk was the name of Mr. Mauleverer’s yacht, was it 
not ? Is it possible that you are a friend of his ? Have 
you heard — ?” 

In an agony of impatience I interrupted him, and 
asked him to allow me to look at the newspaper. 

“ You will see the latest telegram there,” he said, in- 
dicating a particular spot, as I took the sheet into my 
hands. 

I saw at once that the Great Lorton mystery” was 
the leading feature of the issue. It filled a column of 
the paper — a column adorned with big type and striking 
head-lines. I carefully ran my eye downwards, not 
taking in the sense of the words I read, until I came to 
the place indicated by the man, and found the following : 

“ LATEST INTELLIGENCE. 

** ARREST ON SUSPICION/* 

“Barton, Friday morning. 

“ This morning Mr. Eastmead, Chief Constable of 
Barton, acting on information received, proceeded to 
Great Lorton Hall, and there arrested Miss Daisy Stan- 
cliffe, niece of Mr. Mauleverer, on suspicion of being 
concerned in his murder. Miss Stancliffe, it will be re- 
membered, was the only known relative of the deceased, 
and attended his funeral on Monday as chief mourner. 
She is said to be a young lady of remarkably prepos- 
sessing appearance. It is rumored that evidence of a 


150 


mauleverer’s millions. 


very startling kind will be laid before the magistrates 
in support of the charge against her. The prisoner will 
be brought before a special sessions at Barton this after- 
noon ; but it is understood that on this occasion only 
formal evidence will be tendered.” 

I read it all. The words burned themselves into my 
brain never to be effaced ; and then — I suddenly grew 
sick and cold, the objects about me seemed to be spin- 
ning round, and immediately all was blank. For the 
first time in my life I had fainted. 

As I slowly recovered consciousness, Branksome’s 
voice was the first that I heard. 

“ He is coming round. Take him below.” 

In obedience to the curt command, I was carried 
down to the main saloon and laid upon a sofa. In a 
moment Branksome followed me. He waved aside the 
sailors who had attended me. 

“Well,” he said, “you understand now, I suppose ?” 

His face was almost as white as I felt that mine was. 

“Ho; I understand nothing,” I answered in faint 
tones. 

“ Do you not see, Fenton,” he said, in a hurried 
Avhisper, “what it is that you have done? You have 
put an idea in the heads of those fools at Barton and the 
consequence is the arrest of Daisy.” 

“ You cannot believe that,” I said, with more energy. 
“ Surely you do not charge me with having caused her 
arrest? It is some hideous mistake on the part of these 
clumsy Yorkshire policemen. We shall have it put 
right immediately. I shall go to Barton this evening, 
and see about it.” 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


151 


“ My dear young friend,” said Branksome, speaking 
in measured tones and a softened voice, “ your eyes are 
closed to the truth. If you had never hinted at such a 
thing as murder, Daisy would never have been supected. 
But you have lighted the match, and you cannot now 
prevent the explosion.” 

I shrank back from him in horror, Why, you speak 
as though she might be guilty.” 

He shook his head slowly, mournfully. 

“ Did I not tell you that I feared for the consequences 
when a girl like Daisy, proud, passionate, sensitive, is 
subjected to such persecutions as those which she had to 
suffer at Mauleverer's hands ?” 

“ But they were over ! Do you not remember the 
letter you had from her at Bodo. Besides, the thing is 
ridiculous. Daisy a murderess ! I shall believe that you 
and I are parricides sooner than suspect such a thing.” 

“ Yes,” he said thoughtfully, “ I knew I should shock 
you. But for Daisy’s sake as well as yours, it is better 
that you should know the worst. You and I have got 
to save that poor girl, for remember it is you who have 
brought her into peril.” 

I was overwhelmed with a grief such as I had never 
known before. Yery hurriedly we made arrangements 
as to the future, for I felt that we must work together 
if anything was to be done. He meant, he said, to go to 
Great Lorton the next morning. For my part I was 
thankful when I landed to find that there was a train by 
means of which I could reach Barton that night. 

Barton is a pleasant agricultural town, boasting a big 
market-place, where once a week the cattle from the 
surrounding district are offered for sale, a good hotel, an 


i 52 mauleveeee’s millions. 

old church, a jail and a sessions house. It was ten 
o’clock at night when I reached the end of my journey. 
I hurried to the hotel and deposited my portmanteau, 
and then I took the porter who had carried it as my 
guide to the police-station. 

Mr. Eastmead, the chief constable, I was told had 
gone home. If I had very particular business with him 
I might possibly see him there, but the officer on duty 
suggested that I had better call the next morning at ten 
o’clock, when I would be certain to meet him. 

My duty is pressing,” I said ; “ I must see him to- 
night.” 

So I set forth on a walk of half a mile to the chief 
constable’s private residence. On our way to it, the 
porter, who was still my companion, pointed to a high 
dead wall occupying one side of one of the streets 
through which we passed. 

That is the prison, sir,” he said. 

I looked at the grim forbidding wall with a shudder. 
Daisy was within that awful enclosure — a prisoner, made 
such through my accursed eagerness to suspect others, 
and to meddle in business with which I had no concern. 
The thought was enough to drive me mad. I expelled 
it from my mind by an effort that was almost heroic. 
I must keep my mind clear now even from the pangs 
of unavailing remorse, if I were to be able to do any- 
thing on behalf of the woman I loved. 

But I seemed to be in the midst of some hideous 
nightmare, some black phantasmagoric vision, conjured 
up by a diseased brain, when I at last reached the house 
of the official. That it was really true that Daisy was a 
prisoner, suspected of the murder of her uncle, and that 


mauleverer’s millions. 


153 


I was about to speak to the very man by whom she had 
been arrested, was a truth which I simply could not 
realize. 

When Mr. Eastmead heard my name, he at once ex- 
pressed his readiness to see me. I was ushered into a 
little drawing-room furnished in the usual style of mid- 
dle-class households in provincial towns — rickety walnut 
and faded green rep being the prevailing features of the 
furniture. Almost before I had time to observe the 
thoroughly commonplace character of the room, the 
Chief Constable himself appeared. 

“ I am glad to see you, sir,” he said ; “ I have been 
hoping to hear from you all to-day.” He glanced at the 
fireplace, which was still occupied by the gilded shav- 
ings which had done duty in the summer. “I am 
afraid you will be cold here, sir. If you do not mind 
stepping into my sanctum, we can perhaps settle our 
business more comfortably there.” 

The “ sanctum” was a snug little room at the back of 
the house, furnished with a big arm-chair and a bigger 
couch, a large writing-table, and a bookcase. It was 
clear from the perfume that still filled the apartments, 
that when I arrived I had interrupted Mr. Eastmead in 
the middle of a cigar. His first step on installing me 
in the big arm-chair was to produce a cigar-box. But I 
was far too sorely agitated to think of indulging in ‘‘ the 
sad man’s comforterj’ 

‘‘ If you will excuse me,” said the oflScer, “ I shall 
light my pipe. I always think more clearly when I am 
smoking. And now, sir, I am at your service.” 

“ I was shocked to see that you had made an arrest 
this morning in connection with the matter about which 


154 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


I telegraphed to you.” I could not bring myself to 
mention my darling’s name. 

Eastmead’s face grew grave. “ Yes, we have arrested 
Miss Stancliffe, Mr. Mauleverer’s niece. I never had a 
piece of work to do in my life that I liked less ; but it 
had to be done.” 

But she is innocent,” I said, trying to speak calmly. 
“ It was not she — I never even thought of her when I 
telegraphed to you. The thing is quite impossible.” 

He looked at me keenly for a moment, and then said 
quietly, “ I think we had better not discuss Miss Stan- 
cliffe’s arrest at present, Mr. Fenton. I wanted partic- 
ularly to see you because I wished to know your reasons 
for telegraphing to me from Norway as you did. What, 
in short, made you suspect foul play in the case of Mr. 
Mauleverer.” 

“ Tell me first,” I cried imploringly, how Miss 
Stancliffe is. Yon have seen her. How does she bear 
this frightful calamity ? Forgive me, but I am deeply 
interested in her.” 

“ I am afraid I must not answer many questions, Mr. 
Fenton,” he responded ; “ but I think I may tell you 
that the young lady is well in health, and that she bears 
her misfortunes with courage. She was a little upset at 
first, and did not seem to understand what had hap- 
pened ; but she was a great deal better before I left her 
in charge of the matron of the prison.” 

I covered my face with my hands to try to conceal the 
emotion that I felt. It is not in words to describe what 
I suffered. There was one question I longed to put to 
the Chief Constable — and dare not. That was whether 
Daisy’s arrest was due to the hint I had given him. 


mauleverer’s millions. 


155 


“Now, Mr. Fenton,” lie resumed, “I think we had 
better get to business. I have asked you to tell me 
frankly what it was that put it into your head that Mr. 
Mauleverer died of poison.” 

I told him hurriedly all that I knew — or rather that I 
had suspected. I thought that if I laid everything be- 
fore him, he would see with me how impossible it was 
that Daisy could be implicated in the horrible charge, 
and how strong was the evidence against Flinter. Yet, 
when I had told my story, I was but too conscious of 
the weakness of my own case. What did it all amount 
to? That a madman whom I met in the railway-train, 
and of whose identity I knew nothing, had declared that 
murder was about to be done at the hall, and that I had 
found on board the Golden Hawk a volume which had 
evidently been used for the purpose of studying the 
symptoms of poisoning by strychnia. 

Eastmead listened to me with close attention whilst I 
told my tale, but it was not until I mentioned strychnia 
that his interest seemed to be really awakened. 

“You said nothing about that in your telegram to 
me.” 

“No, I only thought it necessary to give you a gen- 
eral warning.” 

“ And have you heard — has anybody told you the re- 
sult of the jpost-mortem .^” 

“ I have heard nothing beyond the bare fact of Miss 
Stancliffe’s arrest.” 

“ Ah ; then I do not know whether you will or will 
not be surprised to hear that the autopsy has shown that 
Mr. Mauleverer undoubtedly died from poisoning by 
strychnia.” 


156 


maxjleveeer’s millions. 


‘‘ Then,” I said eagerly, “ do you not see how clear it 
is that Fliriter must be the guilty person 

“ You jump to conclusions in a surprising manner, 
sir. Why, Flinter by your own showing was some- 
where up in the Arctic Ocean at the time the poison was 
administered to Mr. Mauleverer. As for the book : you 
have not even shown that it belonged to him. Of course 
he may have been an accomplice of the real murderer, 
but for that murderer we are bound to look, not on 
board the Golden Hawk, but at Great Lorton Hall or in 
the immediate neighborhood.” 

“ And was there nobody else whom you could sus- 
pect, without inflicting this degradation upon a woman 
for whose innocence I could vouch with my life ?” 

“I see you are deeply interested in the lady, Mr. 
Fenton, and certainly she is a beautiful creature — as 
bonny a lass as I ever saw. I felt real sorry for her this 
morning. But I am afraid I must tell you we have not 
arrested Miss Stanclifle on mere suspicion.” 

“ In heaven’s name, what do you mean ?” I demanded. 

“Well, you have been quite frank with me, Mr. Fen- 
ton, and I shall be equally frank with you. We have 
discovered, flrst, as I have told you, that Mr. Mauleverer 
was poisoned by strychnia, and next that Miss Stanclifle 
had poison of that description in her possession shortly 
before his death.” 

“ But even so — granting that she had the poison, of 
which I know nothing — it must have been got for some 
innocent purpose.” 

“ Oh, that is a matter of course,” he answered in a 
jocular tone. “ When you are going to poison one of 
your friends, you don’t go to the chemist’s and sa}^, 


matjleveeer’s millions. 


157 


‘ Give me a dose of strychnia that I may get rid of old 
Brown.’ It is always rats that you want it for. Miss 
Stancliffe was like everybody else. When she bought 
the poison she bought it for the benefit of the rats.” 

“ But I assure you, I myself know that Lorton Hall 
swarmed with rats. I heard it from Miss Stanclifie’s 
own lips whilst I was there.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but it is unfortunate that it is not the 
rats but Mr. Mauleverer who has been killed. But I 
think we must wait a little before discussing this ques- 
tion. I shall be very glad if the poor young lady can 
be proved innocent. As for the story you have told me, 
I think we must now try and lay hold of Gregson. He 
may not be a prophet, but at all events we must admit 
that he made a lucky hit when he declared that murder 
would be done at Great Lorton.” 

“ But may it not have been a case of suicide ?” 

“Ho,” replied the Chief Constable with emphasis; 
“ I have thought it all over, and I cannot make it into 
suicide. You may depend upon it that it is a case of 
murder. if it is anything at all.” 

The night was now far advanced, but I could not 
leave him until I had learned something as to the possi- 
bility of my being allowed to see Daisy. He told me 
that, if she herself desired it, he thought an interview 
between us might be managed without difficulty, and he 
promised to do everything in his power to further my 
wishes. I left him with an unshaken belief 4ti my dar- 
ling’s innocence, but oppressed by the conviction that 
the evidence against her was strong, and that it was 
upon my wretclied head that the responsibility for her 
present position must rest. 


158 


mauleverer’s millions. 


I passed a night of sleepless agony at the hotel. And 
here let me say that if I utterly fail to bring home to 
the mind of my reader all that I suffered and continued 
to suffer after learning the news of Daisy’s arrest, it is 
not because I failed to realize my own share in that ter- 
rible event, nor because I was not bowed down to the 
earth with grief and remorse at the thought of the injury 
which I had unwittingly done to her. But my duty now 
is not to dwell upon my own feelings, or to tell how I 
grew perceptibly older in a few hours; how before 
Daisy was brought to trial my hair was streaked with 
white, and my haggard face was hardly to be recognized 
by those who had known me before. I have to continue 
the story of that strange series of events which must 
be forever connected in my memory with the great 
tragedy of our lives. Let the reader then try to un- 
derstand, without further words of mine, that I was 
well-nigh mad with grief and horror at this period of 
my career ; and that I should undoubtedly have been 
quite mad if it had not been for my overpowering con- 
sciousness of the fact that I had one paramount duty to 
discharge — the duty of rescuing my darling from the 
web of evil circumstances in which she had been en- 
veloped. 

It was not until I had spent two days of suspense at 
Barton that Mr. Eastmead brought me the glad news 
that Daisy, having received the letter which I ad- 
dressed her on the morning after my arrival in the town, 
had successfully applied to the magistrates for an order 
admitting me to the prison. 

I found my beautiful darling in the office of the Gov- 
ernor; for her position, her sex, and the fact that as yet 
she had not been committed for trial, enabled the prison 


mauleverer’s millions. 


159 


officials to exercise a considerable degree of leniency in 
their treatment of her. 

She was terribly changed since I had seen her last on 
that happy night when we plighted our troth in the 
garden at the old hall. The color was gone from her 
face, the beautiful lines of which had grown painfully 
sharp ; her lovely eyes had the strained look which one 
sees in some noble animal of the desert when it is in 
confinement; and her figure, clad in the simple black 
dress, looked very frail and unsubstantial. 

With a cry that went up from the very bottom of my 
heart I ran to her, and clasped her in my arms, heedless 
of the presence of the matron. We were in a prison ; 
she a captive lying under the most terrible of all accusa- 
tions ; I, the man who had been the wretched cause of her 
being brought therOc Never surely in this world before 
did two lovers meet each other under circumstances so 
tragical. And yet I can declare before high heaven 
that in all my life there has been no hour more full of 
bliss than that which we spent there, in the mean room 
of the jail, under the hard eyes of the female warder, 
clasped in each other’s arms and hardly speaking, save 
to exchange some word on my side of passionate devo- 
tion, on hers of a love as true and deep as mine, though 
a thousand times more pure and tender. 

Ah, let it pass, let it pass. I cannot put down here 
in cold blood all that transpired in that hour of holy 
joy, when our souls met and mingled together under 
that awful shadow of doom which each would so gladly 
have borne alone, if only the other might have been 
saved from it. 

But before we could part on that day when, if ever in 


160 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


the pure eyes of the angels, two souls were made one 
under the awful baptism of sorrow, there was one task 
which I was compelled to discharge. A harder one was 
never laid upon me. 

“ My darling, you do not know everything,” I said. 
“ You do not know how I have wronged you; you can 
never imagine the cruel injury I have done you.” 

She looked at me with a smile as proud and bright and 
loving as that which a mother turns upon her first-born 
babe. 

“ Wronged me, Cyril ! And you here, by my side, not 
afraid to share the pain and degradation in which I have 
been plunged ! Do you think I could ever believe evil 
of you — even though you were your own accuser ?” 

“ But — dearest — listen !” My voice was hoarse and 
low. It was I who first suggested that your uncle had 
been poisoned. It was I who telegraphed to the police 
from Norway urging them to inquire into the matter.” 

For a moment she seemed puzzled, and then a smile 
that might almost be called one of gayety lit up her face. 

‘‘ Ah, I see what you mean. But surely that is not 
what you can mean when you speak of having wronged 
me. You did what was right — what I myself would 
have done in your place. You suspected there had been 
foul play, and you behaved like an honest man. Ah, if 
I had only had your wit, do you think I would not have 
done as you did ?” 

But oh, my love, my love ! Do you not see that you 
might never have been here if I had not acted as I did ?” 

“Yes: and then I would never have known the real 
nature of the man with whose love God has blessed me. 
I would never have known that he was one who hurried 


MAtTLEVERER’B MILLIONS. 


IGl 


across sea and land to be near me in my hour of trouble, 
and who was not afraid even of the shadow of shame, so 
long as he could share it with me.” 

The mercy of God is infinite ; and sometimes it is 
breathed in its highest and purest form through the dear 
voice of a woman. 


CHAPTER XII. 

AT THE BAR. 

I NEED not dwell upon the events that immediately 
followed Daisy’s arrest. Too soon I was compelled to 
admit that the web of circumstantial evidence woven 
against my darling was only too close and complete. 
There were two examinations before the magistrates, in 
addition to the preliminary one ; but I shall not delay 
my story by referring more particularly to them. At 
the end of the last examination Daisy was committed to 
the assizes at York, for trial on the capital charge. 

I had been constantly in attendance upon her during 
this terrible time, and along with Dr. Branksome I had 
adopted every method of obtaining evidence on her be- 
half that presented itself to me. But all our efforts had 
been in vain. We could not adduce a single fact that 
tended to break down that dreadful chain of incriminat- 
ing testimony which was woven against her, by wit- 
nesses both willing and the reverse. 

It was after Daisy’s final committal that Branksome 
and I quarrelled. IJp to that moment I had been con- 
11 


162 


MAULEVERER’s MILLlt)NS, 


staiitly with him, and had taken his advice in every 
matter concerning the trial. He on his side had treated 
me with a gentleness and frankness which had strength- 
ened his hold upon my feelings. He liad never referred 
directly to the fact that it was my action at Trondhjem 
which had set the fatal engine of the law in motioiu 
He had even listened to me with grave attention when 
I openly declared my belief that Flinter was at the bot- 
tom of the mystery, and that he had probably worked 
through some accomplice at the hall. When he had 
asked me where that accomplice was to be found, I had 
told him of my meeting with Gregson, and had suggested 
that if we could lay hands upon this man we might 
perhaps obtain some clue to the real origin of the 
tragedy. 

He was evidently surprised by my account of what 
Gregson had said to me on my journey by rail to Great 
Lorton Hall ; and, after considering the matter for some 
time, he admitted that the first step to be taken was to 
discover this man and learn. the meaning of his declara- 
tions. The finding of Gregson was a part of our com- 
mon task which Branksome took into his own hands. He 
knew something of the man, he told me — had known 
him in fact when he was in the employment of Mr. 
Mauleverer in Australia — and he had no doubt about his 
ability to discover him. 

Once I ventured to ask Branksome by what right this 
fellow had followed and persecuted Daisy on the oc- 
casion of my first meeting with her. But on this sub- 
ject he could give me no information, any more than 
he could with regard to the man’s sinister predictions 
regarding the murder at Great Lorton Hill. 


mauleverer’s millions. 


163 


Up to this point, I say, I had worked in the most per- 
fect harmony with the doctor. But now, when Daisy 
had been committed to take her trial at the Assizes, we 
quarrelled, and quarrelled bitterly and irrevocably. 

“I have thought everything over carefully,’’ he said 
to me, as we sat together in the hotel on the night after 
the examination was closed. I have weighed all the 
evidence, and the position of the poor girl, and I have 
come to the conclusion that there is only one course to 
be taken.” 

“ And what is that ?” I asked eagerly. 

‘‘She must plead guilty ; in which case I have no 
doubt that we shall be able to save her life.” 

I could scarcely believe my ears. For a moment I was 
stunned by this unexpected suggestion. 

“Guilty!” I cried, when I found my voice. “You 
suffcrest that she should confess to this horrible crime — 

oo 

you. Dr. Branksome, who have stood in the place of a 
father to her, and who ought to know her innocence 
and purity as well as I do myself 1 You are jesting, 
surely.” 

He shook his head, and those deep dark eyes of his 
looked fixedly into mine. 

“We have done our best, my friend,” he said, “and 
we have failed. Don’t let us deceive ourselves as to the 
truth any longer.” 

“ Speak for yourself, sir,” I cried, in a moment free- 
ing myself from the influence which the man had so 
long exercised over me. “If you choose to adopt the 
monstrous falsehood — yes, it is a falsehood and you 
know it — that Daisy is guilty, then go your way, and join 
the band of her persecutors, and bring her to the gallows 


164 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


if you can ! but don’t ask me to join you in the infernal 
work.” 

“ Be calm, sir,” said Branksome, sternly. You com- 
pel me to remind you how it is that Daisy’s life has 
been endangered.” 

I sprang to my feet, exasperated beyond endurance by 
that fatal recollection. ‘‘Dr. Branksome, I owe you 
much in connection with tliis matter, and I shall try to 
remember my debt. But there is one thing I shall never 
forgive — never whilst I live — and that is that3'OU should 
have been ready to desert Daisy in her hour of sorest 
need.” 

I left the room in hot indignation, and from that time 
we met no more as friends. I obtained an interview with 
Daisy — though it was more difficult to do so now that 
she had been committed — and procured from her the full 
authority which I needed to enable me to take charge of 
her interests during her trial. The good people of the 
prison pitied both her and me. Her beauty, her youth, 
the tie which bound us to each other, all seemed to 
awaken in the hearts of the officials a feeling of sym- 
pathy and good-will towards us. Even the Chief Con- 
stable, Eastmead, was friendly in his manner, and quite 
willing to do what he could to assist me in the task I 
had undertaken as Daisy’s champion. In the little town 
of Barton, where the Maple verer poisoning case was for 
weeks the sole topic of discussion, everybody knew the 
story of Daisy and myself ; and I was conscious that as 
I walked through the streets I was followed by the pity- 
ing glances of the passers-by. But alas ! no comfort was 
brought to my soul by all this outflowing of a generous 
sympathy. For in my heart of hearts I knew that all 


mauleverbr’s millions. 


165 


these people believed my darling to be guilty — believed 
it all the more certainly now that it was known that 
even her guardian Branksome had deserted her. I, and 
I only, knew her to be free from blame; and alas! I 
found myself as time passed less able to convert others 
to my view. 

There was one thing I could and did do for Daisy. I 
procured for her at my own expense the best legal as- 
sistance that was to be obtained. Mr. Belmore, Q.C., 
whom I caused to be retained for the defence, was by 
common consent the great leader at the Criminal Bar. 
His silvery tongue and polished manner, combined with 
an unrivalled acuteness in detecting the weak points not 
merely in an adversary’s armor but in the panoply of 
virtue in which every British jury is clad, had raised 
him to a position which very few men are able to attain 
even at the English Bar. I never paid any money with 
greater satisfaction in my life than when I disbursed the 
amount necessary to permit of Mr. Bel more’s brief being 
marked with a fee of five hundred guineas and a “ re- 
fresher” of one hundred guineas a day. 

As second to Belmore I selected my friend Harding, 
with whom I had been associated at Scarborough at the 
time when Daisy and I first learned to love each other. 
His name had been mentioned to me among those of 
several other rising juniors on the Circuit by the at- 
torney whom I had consulted, and I instantly selected 
him, believing that he would give me the assistance of a 
friend as well as of an advocate. And now I waited with 
such patience as I could command for the day when my 
darling would be placed on trial for her life, and when 
as I hoped her innocence might be fully established. I 


166 


MAtJLEVEEER^S MILLIONS. 


did not of course relax the efforts I had been making to 
obtain counter-evidence on her behalf. Three special 
points engaged all my attention. I desired, first, to 
discover how strychnia had been administered to Mr. 
Mauleverer on the night of his murder ; secondly, what 
had become of the poison which Daisy had undoubt- 
edly procured shortly before the murder was committed ; 
and thirdly, where Gregson — whose connection with the 
mystery was, I felt sure, so intimate — was now to be 
found. Alas ! when the day of the trial opened I was 
still without satisfactory information on any of these 
points. 

The case of my darling was the last on the calender at 
the Winter Assizes. It had been postponed at the re- 
quest of our counsel, on the plea that her committal was 
of recent date, and that we had not been able to com- 
plete the inquiries necessary for her defence. But at 
last came the morning on which I found myself seated 
in front of the dock, in the little court in which so many 
tragedies of real life have been played out, and in which 
was now to be enacted the chief scene in the great 
tragedy that had so suddenly enveloped Daisy’s life and 
mine. 

I was hardly conscious of the buzz of cheerful life 
which filled the court whilst we waited for the appear- 
ance of the judge. All around, the people were laugh- 
ing and talking with a strange and heartless indifference 
to the horror of the moment. There were gayly-dressed 
ladies in the galleries — ladies who had come provided 
with fans and scent-bottles and opera-glasses — Heaven 
help them! — to witness the stirring spectacle of the 
baiting of a fellow-creature to death in the name of the 


mauleverer’s millions. 


16'7 


law. I felt ratlier than saw that for a time after I had 
been ushered to my seat by my attorney, the eyes of 
these women were fixed upon me. They knew that I was 
Daisy’s lover; and, in staring at me and commenting on 
my appearance, they found an occupation which served 
to whet their appetites for the greater treat to come. If 
only I could have spoken out, and said all that was in 
my heart at that moment with regard to those fashion- 
able and richly-attired women, I verily believe there is 
not one of them who would not have slunk away in 
shame to the obscurity of her own home. 

The counsel came in one by one, and greeted each 
other cheerfully. There was one, however, whose face 
was grave as befitted the occasion. It was Harding. 
He came quickly across the court to where I sat, and 
gripped my hand hard in silent sympathy ; then turned, 
and took his place at the big table where our solicitor 
and his clerks had arranged the great pile of papers and 
law-books which were to be used during the trial. The 
prosecuting counsel for the Crown, a meagre little man 
with a pale face, keen eyes, and thin lips, Mr. Hawk, 
Q.C., was the first of the leading personages to appear. 
Almost directly after his arrival I saw the commanding 
figure of Mr. Belmore standing at the entrance to the 
court ; and I took fresh courage as I looked into that 
handsome intellectual f^ace, and remembered the great 
feats this man had already accomplished by his gifts of 
speech and mind. Whilst he was returning the saluta- 
tions of his friends among the members of the circuit, 
I allowed my eye for a moment to wander round the 
court, and instantly I found that Branksome and Fos- 
(lyke were sitting together on a bench behind the seats 


168 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


for the jurors. The former was eying me, as it seemed 
to my sensitive imagination, with mingled curiosity and 
compassion. I do not think there was any one in all 
that crowded building who was more entirely self-pos- 
sessed than he was, and yet he was about to see the girl 
who had been as a daughter to him placed on her trial 
for her life, — and he believed her to be guilty. I 
turned with a shudder of dread, of the reason of which 
I was myself hardly conscious, from such a spectacle of 
supreme self-control. As I did so I caught Fosdyke’s 
eye. He bowed to me and waved his hand. I knew 
that, like Branksome, he believed Daisy to be guilty. 
Indeed, after conducting her case during her appearances 
before the magistrates, he had readily acquiesced in my 
suggestion that, unless he were convinced of her inno- 
cence, he would do well to allow me to seek assistance 
elsewhere. But, although he had thus deserted us in 
the hour of direst need, I felt against him nothing of 
that burning indignation which possessed me whenever 
I thought of Branksome. He at least had never known 
Daisy as Branksome had done, and I had no right to 
blame him because he misjudged her. 

There was a loud cry of “ silence” from the ushers ; 
everybody in court rose ; and the judge, a little rosy- 
faced man with a bright good-natured countenance, 
entered, and bowing, in ackno^yledgment of the saluta- 
tions of the bar, took his seat upon the bench. Then 
there was some little confusion whilst the Under-Sheriff 
was engaged in the process of getting a jury together. 
In my impatience it seemed to me that the trial would 
never be allowed to begin that day. Hours must surely 
already have elapsed since I took my seat in the court. 


mauleverer’s millions. 


160 


“ Put up Daisy Stan cliff e !” suddenly cried the clerk, 
and there was an audible movement of suppressed ex- 
citement throughout the crowded court. I turned and 
looked, and there at the bar, deadly pale, but with a 
sweet composure on her face such as I have seen in 
pictures of Joan of Arc at the stake, stood Daisy con- 
fronting those who - for the moment represented the 
majesty of the English law. I had meant* to seize 
her hand and kiss it there and then, before all the on- 
lookers. But when I saw that noble, beautiful face, 
over which, as it were, the very shadow of the valley of 
death was hanging, I was overcome with a feeling that 
was almost one of awe. 1 did not dare to intrude upon 
that holy calm which, like some protecting halo, seemed 
to surround my darling. Ah ! who was I, that I should 
have been allowed to win the love of this priceless 
woman, and that to me should have been given the 
privilege of standing here, her only friend and champion, 
in the presence of a hostile world ? I sent up a prayer 
to God for strength and courage and composure for 
both for us. And then I looked again, and her dear 
eyes shone down into mine like stars from a wintry 
sky, and we smiled upon each other, as those try to do 
who meet on the verge of an eternal parting. 

“^NTot 'guilty,” in a voice that trembled a little, but 
that yet was heard with distinctness throughout the 
court, was Daisy’s reply to the demand of the clerk of 
arraigns. Then up rose Mr. Hawk, Q.C.: the represen- 
tative of the Treasury, and in a clear cold voice began 
his dispassionate but all-too-terrible recital of the case 
against Daisy — to whom he never referred save as “ the 
prisoner at the bar.” Briefly told, this was his story : 


1 '70 MAULEVEBEE^S MILLIOJ^S. 

The prisoner at the bar was chai’ged with the murder 
of Mr. George Mauleverer, an Australian gentleman, 
reputed to be of very great wealth, who had recently 
settled in England, and taken up Ins residence at Great 
Lorton Hall, in this county. The prisoner stood in the 
relationship of niece to Mr. Mauleverer, and it was well 
known to his friends that it was that gentleman’s inten- 
tiQii to make her his sole heiress. Mr. Mauleverer was 
a man in somewhat delicate health. He suffered from a 
chronic complaint of the throat, and a few months be- 
fore his death he had also been afflicted by a slight 
epileptic seizure, which occasioned some uneasiness to 
himself and his medical adviser. In all his illnesses, it 
would be proved to the jury beyond dispute, the prisoner 
at the bar had been his chief, he might almost say his 
sole, attendant. She professed to be devoted to him, 
and there could be no doubt that Mr. Mauleverer enter- 
tained a sincere attachment for her. The jury, he trusted, 
would bear one fact in mind to which many witnesses 
would bear testimony. That was that the prisoner, on 
the occasions on which Mr. Mauleverer suffered from 
illness, invariably administered to him any medicine he 
might require with her own hands. In fact, it could be 
proved that the deceased had often alluded to her jok- 
ingly as his best nurse and doctor in chief.” He, Mr. 
Hawk, now wished to call their attention to a date of 
great importance, the evening of Tuesday the 24th of 
October last. On that day Mr. Mauleverer was not 
very well. He dined at an earlier hour than usual, — six 
o’clock, — with the prisoner at the bar and with a lady 
named Cawthorne, who was resident in the house in the 
capacity of companion to the prisoner. Hobody else 


mauleveeer's millions. 


171 


was staying at the hall at the time except the servants, 
nor had Mr. Mauleverer seen any visitors for more than 
a fortnight. After dinner it would be proved that the 
prisoner at the bar read to the deceased for half an hour 
or more, and that she then played to him on the piano 
until about nine o’clock, at which time, complaining of 
fatigue, he expressed a desire to retire to rest.' When 
lie expressed this wish, the prisoner at the bar said she 
would go up to his room first, and ascertain that the fire 
was burning, and everything in readiness for him. She 
left the apartment for a few minutes, ostensibly for this 
purpose, but in reality, as he suggested on the part of 
the prosecution, to prepare the fatal dose of poison which 
was undoubtedly administered to the man very soon 
afterwards. At all events, she had an opportunity at 
that time, if she wished it, of possessing herself of this 
poison. Mr. Mauleverer in the mean time remained in 
the drawing-room with Mrs. Cawthorne. It so hap- 
pened, however, that a man-servant who had been sum- 
moned for some trivial purpose remained in the room 
with the deceased and Mrs. Cawthorne during the 
prisoner’s absence. This fact was not unimportant, as it 
tended undoubtedly to narrow the field of inquiry when 
they came to investigate the circumstances of the crime. 

The prisoner returned to the drawing-room, and told 
deceased that his room was in readiness. He thereupon 
said good-night to Mrs. Cawthorne, and turning to the 
prisoner said, I suppose I shall see you by and by,” 
evidently referring to the nightly visit which she paid 
him when he was unwell, for the purpose of administer- 
ing to him any medicine that he might need. In the 
course of half an hour, Mr. Mauleverer’s valet, who had 


1V2 


MAULEVERER S MILLIONS. 


attended him whilst he was preparing for rest, informed 
the prisoner, who had in the mean time been sitting in the 
drawing-room with Mrs. Cawthorne, that his master was 
ready to see her, and she at once went up to liis room. 

“Now, gentlemen,” continued Hawk, speaking in 
more solemn tones than he had hitherto used, “ we can- 
not tell you what happened during the interview. The 
prisoner alone survives it. What we do know is that 
she remained for a quarter of an liour in the apartment 
of the deceased. Her own account of the way in which 
she spent that interval was given, after she had been 
duly cautioned, to the officer of the law by whom she 
was arrested. According to her statement she read a 
chapter of the Bible, as her custom was, to the deceased 
She then gave him a powder of a kind wliich he was in 
the habit of taking at times. It was a powder of bromide 
of potassium, a medicine which, as you are probably 
aware, gentlemen of the jury, is frequently used for 
patients of an epileptic tendency. He took the medicine, 
she says, quite readily, made no remark on taking it, and, 
saying he was sleepy, bade the prisoner good-night. She 
at once left the room, and presently she herself retired 
to rest.” 

The next piece of evidence to which Hawk called at- 
tention was a somewhat remarkable one. About half 
past eleven o’clock, or an hour and a half after the 
prisoner had left the deceased, one of the younger 
housemaids of the hall, who was passing along a corri 
dor not far from the room occupied by Mr. Mauleverer, 
heard, as she declares, a sharp cry of pain. Unfortu- 
nately the girl, instead of ascertaining the cause of this 
cry, fled hastily to the servants’ hall. Her account of 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


173 


lier conduct was that ‘‘she believed she had heard a 
ghost.” It appeared tliat popular tradition declared 
Great Lorton Hall to be haunted, and as a consequence 
the servants were, continually imagining that in certain 
parts of the house they heard various mysterious sounds. 
Mr. Mauleverer’s room, as it happened, was somewhat 
remote from the other sleeping-apartments which were 
occupied that night. The girl never thought that it 
could have been from her master that this cry of agony 
proceeded, and so the unfortunate man was left to 
struggle alone with death — to which he too soon fell a 
victim. 

Tlie next morning, at the usual hour, the valet of the 
deceased, John Green by name, went into his master’s 
bedroom. He immediately saw that something dread- 
ful had happened. The bedclothes were in great disor- 
der, as though the deceased had been struggling vio- 
lently. On looking more closely at him. Green saw that 
Mr. Mauleverer was quite dead. He was lying with his 
face buried in one of the pillows, and he had apparently 
died in convulsions. In one of his hands was clutched 
a bed-curtain, which in his agony he seemed to have 
torn from its fastenings. The household was at once 
alarmed. The prisoner on learning what had happened 
professed extreme grief, and sent a messenger forthwith 
to summon the nearest medical man. Dr. Garrick, of 
Little Lorton. Dr. Garrick, who would be called before 
them as a witness, undoubtedly fell into a great mistake. 
He came to the conclusion on seeing the body that Mr. 
Mauleverer had died possibly of suffocation in a fit of 
epilepsy, and he gave a certificate in accordance with 
that belief. In excuse for him it might be said that he 


174 


mauleverer’s millions. 


had not the slightest reason to suspect foul play, whilst 
he was aware tliat deceased was afflicted by epilepsy. 
Fortunately for the ends of justice, however, suspicions 
were aroused ; and on the day after Mr. Mauleverer’s 
funeral, at which the prisoner at the bar attended as 
chief mourner, his body was exhumed, and on an analy- 
sis of the contents of the stomach it was discovered that 
his death was really due to a large dose of strychnia. 
All the evidence that could be obtained pointed to the 
conclusion that this poison must have been administered 
somewhere about the time when the prisoner last saw 
the unfortunate man. How could it have been admin- 
istered ? The answer to that question was clear. Two 
persons only had access to Mr. Mauleverer about the 
time when he unquestionably took the fatal dose. One 
of these was Green, the valet, and the other was the 
prisoner at the bar. Now, in Green’s favor certain 
facts could at once be alleged. One of these was that 
he had never been in the habit of administering drugs 
to the deceased, and any attempt he might make to do 
so could hardly have failed to arouse Mr. Mauleverer’s 
suspicions. The prisoner, on the other hand, constantly 
mixed and gave him his medicine. Next, all their in- 
quiries pointed to the conclusion that Green had abso- 
lutely nothing to gain by Mr. Mauleverer’s death. The 
prisoner, on the contrary, as he should show them pres- 
ently, had everything to gain by it, provided it took 
place within a certain period of time. Lastly, all inqui- 
ries which had been made led to the belief that Green 
had not been in the possession of any poison at the time 
when the murder was committed. The prisoner, it 
would be conclusively proved, did possess poison, and 


maulbverer’s millions. 


175 


poison exactly similar to that found in the body of Mr. 
Mauleverer, a few days before the death of that gentle- 
man. 

Surely in these circumstances it was clear that, inas- 
much as, according to all known laws, either Green or 
the prisoner at the bar had given the fa^l dose to the 
deceased, it was the latter whom they had the best reason 
to suspect. But the law mercifully demanded in cases 
of this kind that some- motive should be shown, some 
reason which was likely to have led the accused person 
to resort to a desperate crime. He was sorry to say 
that there would be no difficulty in meeting this re- 
quirement of the law on the present occasion. He 
would bring forward evidence to show that a violent 
quarrel had taken place between the deceased and tlie 
prisoner at the bar shortly before the date of the mur- 
der. The quarrel was due to a love-affair between tlie 
prisoner and a gentleman of whom Mr. Mauleverer did 
not approve as a pretender to the hand of his niece. 
There had been painful scenes between Mi'. Mauleverer 
and the prisoner, and witnesses who were strongly 
prejudiced in favor of the latter would give evi- 
dence showing that there was in reality a very bitter 
feeling on her part with regard to the ill-usage which 
she conceived she had received from her uncle. This 
was not all, however. It would be shown that Mr. 
Mauleverer, having executed a will by which all his vast 
wealth passed unreservedly to the prisoner, had within a 
week or two of his death given instructions for the prep- 
aration of a second will, under which, in the event of 
her marrying the gentleman referred to, she would re- 
ceive only a comparatively small legacy, whilst the rest 


176 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


of his estate would be devoted to charitable purposes. 
This will had not been signed at the time of Mr. Maulev- 
erer’s death, in consequence of the temporary absence 
from England of his usual legal adviser, by whom it had 
been prepared. But the prisoner at the bar knew of its 
existence, knew further that it would be duly exe- 
cuted so soon as the attorney returned from abroad. 
Here, then, they had what all must feel to be a strong 
motive for the commission of this crime. He did not 
wish to press hardly upon the prisoner, whose youth and 
good looks were well calculated to prepossess most per- 
sons in her favor. But the jury had a duty to discharge, 
and he could not see how, after hearing the evidence 
which he was about to lay before them, and which would 
bear out the statement he had just made to the fullest 
extent, they could find any other verdict than that the 
prisoner at the bar was, in very truth, guilty of having 
wilfully murdered Mr. George Maulevej’er on the night 
of October 24th. 

I had nerved myself to listen to this terrible indict- 
ment of my darling without showing by any outward 
sign the effect which it might have upon me ; and up to 
a certain point I had done so successfully. But when 
the counsel spoke of the quarrels between Daisy and her 
uncle regarding myself, I had found it impossible to 
retain my composure. My agitation must have been 
made more visible when I heard of the unsigned will by 
which she was to be punished if she married me. Ho 
mention had been made of this document in the exami- 
nation before the magistrate, and I was quite ignorant 
of its existence. When Hawk spoke of it I started visi- 
bly and looked at Daisy. Her face gave not the slight- 


maulevebee’s millions. 


Ill 


est sign of any kind of emotion, and I knew then that 
the prosecuting counsel had reason for his declaration 
that Daisy was aware of the existence of the document. 
But if that were the case how was it that the fact had 
only been publicly brought forward now I Alas ! I re- 
membered that now Branksome and Fosdyke could no 
longer be reckoned on our side. It must have been by 
Fosdyke that this fatal piece of evidence had been re- 
vealed. 

I looked eagerly to where Belmore and Harding sat 
together, anxious to judge if I could from their faces 
what effect Hawk’s statement had made upon them. 
Harding was very grave and even gloomy. Belmore, 
on the other hand, preserved the tranquil and confident 
air which had inspired me with hope when I first saw 
him. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE VEEDICT. 

It is not necessary to weary my readers with the whole 
of the evidence which was given in support of Hawk’s 
statement. The counsel for the Crown had recapitulat- 
ed the facts only too faithfully, and all that he had told 
the jury was borne out by the witnesses. 

The first to be examined was Green, the valet, who 
told the story of how he had assisted Mr. Mauleverer to 
undress, and had seen him get into bed on the night of 
the murder. In the course of cross-examination ho 
swore that deceased, though apparently somewhat weak, 
12 


178 


mauleverer’s millions. 


was clieerW and composed when he left him. He was 
then questioned as follows by Belmore : 

“ Did you see any medicine or any bottle that might 
have contained medicine of any kind near his bed when 
you left him Ho.’’ 

What medicine was in his room, as far as you know, 
that night T — “ On the table in the dressing-room tliere 
was a box containing the powders which he occasionally 
took.” 

Hothing else — no bottle, no powder of any kind ?” 
— “ Certainly not.” 

Mr. Hawk, Q.C., here said that the prosecution pro- 
duced the box of powders, and that evidence would be 
given regarding it. 

Cross-examination continued: “ You ha^e described 
the condition of Mr. Mauleverer and of his bed when 
you entered his room next morning. Did anything else 
in the apartment attract your attention ?” — ‘‘ Ho ; every- 
thing was as I had left it on the previous night.” 

“Was there a table near the bed?” — “Yes ; there was 
one within reach of my master’s arm.” 

“ What was on it when yon left him at night ?” — “ A 
copy of the Bible and a bottle of water with a glass.” 

“ What did you find there in the morning ?” — “ The 
Bible and the water-bottle and glass.” 

“ Had the glass been used ?” — “ Ho : it was turned up 
on the top of the bottle. I particularly observed that 
it was quite dry, and that the water in the bottle had 
not been touched.”* 

“ In what glass was Mr. Mauleverer in the habit of tak- 
ing his medicine ?” — “ Miss Stand iffe always used a par- 
ticular glass which was kept on his drawing-room table.” 

“ Had that glass been used on the night of October 


mauleverer’s millions. 


179 


24:tli?” — “I think so. We found that there was a little 
water and a slight sediment at the bottom of the glass 
when we examined the room the next day.” 

“Was any care taken of it “ Ko, sir. Miss Stan- 
cliffe told me that she had given her uncle one of his 
powders before she left him, and I concluded that the 
glass had been used for that purpose.” 

“ And it was washed ?” — “ Yes : by Miss Stancliffe’s 
orders.” (Sensation in court.) 

“I did not ask by whose orders it was done ; but I 
should be glad to know what were the exact words Miss 
Stancliffe used when she gave you these directions?” — 
“ She said, ‘ Have everything tidy in the bedroom and 
dressing-room.’ ” 

“And when was that?” — “Sometime on the morning 
of the 25th.” 

“ Before or after Dr. Garrick had seen the deceased ?” 
— “ I am not quite certain — after Dr. Garrick’s visit, I 
believe.” 

“ How, sir, on your oath, was not everything left un- 
touched until after the doctor’s visit?” — “I believe so.” 

“ And he might have examined anything and every- 
thing: in the room if he had wished to do so ?” — “ Oh, 
certainly.” 

“ By the way, there is one other question. Are you 
troubled with rats at Great Lorton ?” — “ Oh, the rats is 
awful, sir.” (Laughter in court.) 

Mary Taylor, the maid, deposed to the time at which 
Miss Stancliffe retired to rest on the night of the 24th. 
She was then quite calm and composed. She was dress- 
ing in the morning when witness took her the news of 
Mr. Mauleverer’s death. She seemed greatly distressed, 
and gave orders that the doctor was to be sent for im- 


180 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS, 


mediately. She went to her uncle’s room instantly upon 
hearing of what had happened. 

Cross-examined: ‘‘Have you ever heard Miss Stan- 
cliffe express any ill-will towards her uncle ?” — “ Hever, 
sir.” 

“ You are quite sure of that ?” — “ Certainly, sir. So 
far as I could see, she was very fond of him, even at 
the time when he was not very kind to her.” 

“ Was she in the habit of praying before she retired to 
rest ?” — “ Yes, sir. She always read a little in the Bible 
and prayed. I was often in the room when she did so.” 

“Did she read and pray on that particular night?” — 
“ She did, sir.” (Sensation.) 

“ How, Miss Taylor, be good enough to tell me if you 
have ever known Miss Stancliffe possess any poison ?” 
— “Yes, sir; about two weeks before Mr. Mauleverer’s 
death she showed me a small packet one night, and said 
that it was poison which she had procured that day at 
Little Lorton, and that it was to be used for the poison- 
ing of the rats. Her uncle, she said, had desired her to 
procure it.” 

“ Anything else ?” — “ She told me that she was nerv- 
ous about having it in her possession, and that she 
mennt to put it away in some very secure place.” 

“ Did she say why she did not mean to use it at once ?” 
— “ Yes ; she told me that she was afraid to trust any of 
the servants with it, and she would keep it until Dr. 
Branksome returned, as he would know how it ought 
to be used.” 

“ Have you seen that parcel since ?” — “ Ho, sir.” 

“Would you know it again ?” — “ I think I should, sir.” 

Dr. Carrick, an amiable country practitioner, was the 
next witness called. He was unmistakably nervous, and 


mauleveree’s millions. 


181 


gave his evidence in so uncertain a manner, that even 
the good-natured judge lost his patience at last, and told 
him sliarply that he was not serving the prisoner by his 
equivocating answers. This only made the poor man 
worse, and I saw that Mr. Belmore in his cross-examina- 
tion was terribly bothered by him. He could not give 
any reason now for coming to the conclusion that Mr. 
Mauleverer had died of epilepsy. He was quite satisfied 
that he had been mistaken in thinking so. 

“We have heard, Dr. Garrick,” said Belmore, “that 
Mr. Mauleverer was in the habit of taking certain powders 
prescribed by you ?” — “ Yes, sir : bromide of potassium.” 

“ Where were these powders prepared ?” — “ In my 
own surgery, sir.” 

“ Is this” (producing box) “ one of the boxes in which 
these powders were contained ?” — “ It is tlie last box that 
I supplied to Mr. Mauleverer. He had one before this.” 

“ How do you know that this is the last box ?” — “ By 
the date written upon it in my own handwriting.” 

“How, how many powders would such a box as that 
contain — “ Eighteen.” 

“ Just open the box and tell us how many you find 
there now.” — “ I find there are four in it.” 

“ And how often would Mr. Mauleverer take one of 
these powders ?” — “ When required, sir. Perhaps, on 
an average, one every second or third night.” 

“ One every second or third night,” said Belmore. 
He whispered a word to Harding, who forthwith made a 
calculation on a sheet of paper. 

“ Fourteen powders are gone : that would indicate 
that the box. had been in use. Dr. Garrick, for at least 
twenty-eight days before the death of Mr. Mauleverer. 


182 


mauleveeer’s MILLIOKS. 


Be good enongli, sir, to tell me what is the date written 
on the box as that on which it was supplied from your 
surgery “ September 23d, sir.” 

“ Ah ! that is jnst thirty-three days before the night 
of this fatal event. ITow I must ask you. Dr. Garrick, to 
pay particular attention to the questions I am about to 
put to you, and to remember that the life of a fellow- 
creatui-e may depend upon your answers. Who pre- 
pared these powders I did so myself, sir. I have 
no dispenser.” 

‘‘ And where did you prepare them ?” — “ In my own 
dispensary.” 

The drug, I suppose, is a perfectly simple one — the 
powders, I mean, had not to be compounded of different 
drugs ?” — “ No ; all I had to do was to weigh the bromide 
of potassium and make each dose up in a separate piece 
of paper in the usual manner.” 

‘‘ Where do you keep your stock of bromide ?” — ‘‘ In 
a large glass jar on the lower shelf of the cupboard in 
my dispensary.” 

‘Wery good ; and now, sir, answer me without hesita- 
tion, where do you keep your stock of strychnia?” — 
“ In the same cupboard, sir.” 

‘‘ Ah !” Bel more looked up at the jury with a face 
that spoke volumes. Everybody saw the point at which 
lie was aiming — everybody except my darling, who sat 
looking pale and fatigued, and almost listless, as though 
the whole thing were a ghastly farce which wearied her. 
At long intervals she raised her eyes and looked at me. 
It was only then that any sign of life or feeling came 
into her dear face. 

Cross-examination continued: You say the strychnia 


mauleverer’s millions. 


and bromide of potassium were kept in tlie same cup- 
board. Now do you ever make mistakes, Dr. Garrick, 
in the compounding of your medicines?’’ — ‘‘Well, sir, 
— I should not like to say positively — ” 

“Come, come, Dr. Garrick, be frank with us. Tell 
me : did you ever make a mistake in making up your 
medicines ?” 

Belmore stood like a tower among his seated brethren. 
His long arm was outstretched, and his forefinger, 
which was pointed direct at the heart of the witness, al- 
most seemed as though it were a rapier, by which the 
unhappy man had been transfixed. There was some* 
thing terrible, too, in the eye of the great advocate as it 
flashed upon the witness, something merciless in the 
firmly-closed mouth with which he waited for the an- 
swer to his question. Everybody in court, I think, was 
fascinated by the spectacle. There he stood, motionless 
as a statue, and unrelenting as an inquisitor, whilst Dr. 
Garrick writhed visibly before him. 

“ You must answer the question, sir,” said the judge 
in peremptory tones. 

Breathing hard, and pausing a moment to wipe the 
perspiration from his forehead, the witness spoke : “ I 
have made a mistake once — it was years ago.” 

“ What was it ?” — “ I used the wrong drug in making 
up a simple prescription.” 

“ The wrong drug ! Tell me the name of that drug, 
sir T * — “ It was arsenic. My lord, this happened twenty 
years ago, and I assure your lordship there has been 
nothing — ” 

“Answer my question, sir, and don’t make speeches,” 
said Belmore. “ You tell us that you did make a mistake 


184 


MAULEVERER S MILLIOJfS. 


once, and that you put arsenic into your medicine instead 
of something else. Pray what was tlie result of that 
mistake ? Did your patient take the medicine He 
did, sir.” 

And he died “ Yes, to my lasting pain and sor- 
row he did. It was a baby, sir — ” 

‘‘ Don’t make speeches. Dr. Garrick. You tell me that 
once already you have made a mistake in compounding 
your medicines which cost one of your fellow-creatures 
his life. How, will you admit the possibility of your 
having made another mistake ? You know your strych- 
nia and your bromide of potassium were in the same 
cupboard in your laboratory ?” — “ Ho, sir, I can’t admit 
that I made any mistake on this occasion. I got a terri- 
ble lesson twenty years ago.” 

‘‘Ho doubt you did ; but, excuse me, I did not ask you 
whether you had or had not made a mistake on this oc- 
casion, but whether it was or was not possible for you to 
do so ?” — “ Ho, sir : it was impossible.” 

“ You are infallible now, eh ?” — “Yes, sir,” blurted out 
the unhappy man, who evidently did not know whether 
he was standing .on his head or his heels. 

“ Well, I mean to ask the jury to pronounce an opinion 
upon that point. Dr. Garrick. You can go now.” 

But before he went he was re-examined by Hawk. 

“ Do you recollect making up these particular powders 
for Mr. Mauleverer ?” — “ Perfectly well.” 

“ Are you quite certain you made no mistake ?” — “ I 
am positive I did not.” 

“ In what part of your cupboard do you keep your 
strychnia?” — “On the top shelf, sir.” 

“ How there were eighteen powders originally in that 


mauleverer’s millions. 


185 


box. Were they all made up at the same time “ Un- 
doubtedly, sir.” 

‘‘ From the same bottle of bromide “ Certainly.” 

“Were you interrupted whilst making them up ?” — 
“ Kot that I remember.” 

“ Have you examined the four powders which remain 
in the box ?” — “ Yes, in company with my eminent medi- 
cal colleague, Mr. Allgood, I have examined them.” 

“And do they consist of bromide of potassium or 
strychnia ?” — “ Of #bromide, of course.” 

“ Then we may take it for granted that Mr. Mauleverer 
had been using these powders without suffering any ill- 
effects from them down to the day of his death, and that 
all the powders left in the box after his death are per- 
fectly harmless ?” — “ I apprehend that is the case.” 

Dr. Garrick was followed by Mr. Allgood, F.K.C.S., 
the eminent toxicologist, who gave convincing evidence 
of the real cause of Mr. Mauleverer’s death. The un- 
fortunate millionaire had evidently taken a large dose of 
strychnia about an hour or an hour and a half before he 
was heard by the servant-maid to cry out. He confirmed 
Garrick’s statement regarding the powders remaining in 
the box. He had not discovered any trace of bromide of 
potassium in his analysis of the contents of deceased’s 
stomach. 

After him came the chemist at Little Lorton, Mr. 
Smirke, who told how on the Yth of October the pris- 
oner had driven up to his shop in her uncle’s carriage, 
and had explained that she wished for a quantity of 
strychnia, to be employed in poisoning the rats which 
abounded in the cellars of the hall. He had remarked 
upon the very dangerous character of the poison, and 


186 


mauleveeer's millions. 


had recommended some other method of getting rid of 
the vermin. Miss Stancliffe agreed with him that the 
poison was an exceedingly dangerous one, and had ex- 
pressed her regret that her uncle wished her to procure 
it. She had further requested him to supply it to her 
in a sealed parcel, so that, in case of its being acciden- 
tally found by one of the servants, it might not be 
opened by mistake. 

Belmore only put one question to this witness : “ Sup- 
posing you were to. see that parcel again, would you 
know it at once and be able to say if it had been tam- 
pered with “ Yes, I could not mistake that parcel if 
I saw it again.” 

Then came the evidence of the Chief Constable, my 
acquaintance Eastmead. It was terrible to hear him tell 
how, “ in consequence of information he had received,” 
he had felt it to be his duty to make certain inquiries re- 
garding Mr. Mauleverer’s death. At that moment I dared 
not have faced either Daisy or Dr. Branksome. I was 
thankful when Eastmead passed on to tell of the result 
of his search though the house, when he went there for 
the purpose of arresting the prisoner. It was a negative 
result altogether. The only drugs of any kind which he 
could discover were the box of powders produced in 
court, which he found upon the dressing-table in Mr. 
Mauleverer’s room, and some simple medicament for the 
teeth, which was in the bedroom of. Mrs. Cawthorne. 
Nowhere could he find any trace of strychnia or any 
other poison. 

In the course of his examination he recited the State- 
ment made by the prisoner at the time of her arrest, 
after she had been duly cautioned to the effect that any- 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


187 


thing which she said might be used as evidence against 
her. It was as follows : 

“ I went to my dear uncle’s room at about ten o’clock, 
after being told by his servant that he was ready to see 
me. I spoke a few moments to him, and then, accord- 
ing to our usual custom, I read to him from the Bible 
for a few minutes. After that I went to his dressing- 
room, and mixed one of his powders, taking it from the 
box supplied by Dr. Garrick. It was one of the ordi- 
nary powders. I am quite certain of that. He drank 
it off without making any remark, except that I had 
given him a bitter dose. He then said he was very 
sleepy, so I kissed him and left his room. I never saw 
him again alive.” The attention of the prisoner having 
been directed to the fact that she was known to have 
purchased strychnia recently, she said, ‘‘I bought the 
strychnia at my uncle’s request. It was to be used for 
poisoning the rats. I was uneasy at having such an 
article in my possession, and I placed the poison in a 
drawer in my bureau which I always kept locked. It 
remained there until the day after my uncle’s death. I 
remember entering my dressing-room then, and finding 
that in my grief and excitement I had left that drawer 
open. I have a vague recollection of feeling startled 
at the thought that some one might have got at the 
poison, and I resolved to make it more secure; but 
whether I threw it into the fire as I originally intended, 
or hid it somewhere else, I cannot at this moment re- 
member. I shall remember all about it soon, I feel 
certain ; but I was so much confused at the time with 
grief and horror, that my mind was in a whirl, and I 
hardly knew what I was doing. I fear I am not much 


188 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


better yet, but perhaps by and by I shall be all right 
again.” 

To my surprise the next witness called was Daisy’s 
own familiar friend, Mrs. Cawthorne. Her distress, 
however, was evident, and her testimony did little to 
strengthen the case of the prosecution. She was asked 
regarding the conduct of Mr. Mauleverer after he had 
learned what had passed between Daisy and myself ; 
and she was compelled to say that the millionaire had 
betrayed very great excitement, and had treated his 
niece for a few days with extreme harshness. She, 
however, Mrs. Cawthorne declared, had behaved through 
it all “ like an angel — and indeed, my loi’d, if you knew 
her, you would know that she is an angel, the best that 
ever lived,” cried the good woman, despite the attempts 
of Hawk to keep her to the point. I felt as if I could 
have embraced her on the spot. 

Cross-examined hy Mr. Belmore : “ You said that Mr. 
Mauleverer showed great excitement and treated the 
prisoner with harshness ‘ for a few days.’ How long, 
Mrs. Cawthorne, was that before his death ?” — He 
changed for the better about a fortnight before his 
death — about the time when Dr. Branksome and Mr. 
Fosdyke left the hall.” 

“ And just before the 24th of October, what was the 
nature of his relations with his niece ?” — ‘‘ He was on 
excellent terms with her. On the very day on which 
he died, I told her that I felt certain that all would 
come right between them in the end.” 

^^And did she make any reply?” — ‘‘She said she 
hoped it would be so, as it would be miserable both for 
her and for her uncle to live in perpetual estrangement.” 


mauleverer's millions. 


189 


Fosdjke was tlie next witness. He produced Mr. 
Mauleverer’s will, and, amid a general murmur of ex- 
citement, gave some details as to the amount of his 
wealth. By the will that had been duly executed in 
the month of August in London, the prisoner inherited 
everything. Early in October, he (the witness) had 
gone down to Great Lorton Hall on business, and had 
there received, instructions from Mr. Mauleverer to pre- 
pare a second will, by which, in the event of the pris- 
oner marrying Mr. Cyril Fenton, the property, which 
under the first will was to be vested in trustees for her 
benefit, was to be applied to the erection and endow- 
ment of public hospitals in the Australian colonies, with 
the exception of a sum of £50,000, which was to be 
paid to Miss Stanclifie on the day of her marriage. 
When these details were given I thought that the peo- 
ple in court, and especially the well-dressed women in the 
galleries, turned to my darling with more kindly looks 
than those with which they had hitherto regarded her. 
Poor fools ! They could look upon that sweet face, and 
not read there the plain signs of purity and innocence. 
Yet no sooner did they know of the wealth which was 
now hers than they began to doubt and hesitate, and al- 
low the strong conviction of her guilt which they had 
previously entertained to be disturbed. It was incredi- 
ble to them that a woman who was at this very moment 
the owner of millions* should be a vulgar murderess! 

There was one part of Fosdyke’s evidence, however, 
which told heavily against us. It was that in which he 
related how, at the request of Mr. Mauleverer himself, 
he had made Daisy acquainted with the terms of the 
new disposition of her uncle’s property. 


190 


mauleveree’s millions. 


“ And what did she say in reply was the question 
put by Hawk. 

Fosdyke adjusted his pince-nez, and, with a momen- 
tary assumption of that air of pert self-satisfaction which 
had distinguished him in happier days, but which had 
undoubtedly been missing of late, said : ‘‘ Miss Stancliife 
is a lady, sir. I did not expect any show of vulgar 
emotion when I told her of what was practically her dis- 
inheritance, and I was not disappointed.” 

‘‘And how comes it, sir,” cried Belraore, rising to 
cross-examine him, “ that this will has never yet been 
executed?” — “I was leaving the hall, immediately after 
taking Mr. Mauleverer’s instructions, for Norway, where 
I had business to transact on his behalf. The fair copy 
of the will had to be made by my clerks in London, 
and I myself suggested that the matter might stand over 
till my return.” 

“ Ah ! You were going to Norway, you say ; rather 
a stormy voyage at this time of the year ; and you would 
of necessity be leaving your client, a delicate old man, 
for several weeks, yet you did not think it necessary 
to complete his will before your departure ?”— “ I did 
not.” 

“ Now, sir, are you quite sure that Mr. Mauleverer was 
in a proper state of mind at that time to execute a will ?” 
— “ I should certainly say he was ; but I am no doctor.” 

“Was he not under the influence of an extraordinary 
degree of excitement about that period?” — “He was 
certainly very much excited.” 

“Would you be surprised to hear that his excitement 
was such as to lead him to employ one of his servants to 
abduct Mr. Fenton, the gentleman towards whom he 


mauleverer’s millions. 


191 


appeared for some reason or other to entertain so ex- 
traordinary an antipathy 

It was Daisy’s turn to start and look surprised at tliis 
question, as, indeed, most persons in court did. I had 
never told Daisy the truth about my voyage to the north, 
nor should I have allowed that truth to be made known 
now but for the imperative demands of Mr. Belmore. 

Fosdyke was manifestly disconcerted by the' question. 

“Come, sir,” cried Belmore, “I must have an an- 
swer.” — “ I heard something of it.” 

“ Heard something of it ! Why, were you not aboard 
the ship in which that gentleman” — pointing to where I 
sat — “was abducted?” — “Yes; I know that such an 
abduction took place by the orders of Mr. Maiileverer.” 

“ How, upon your solemn oath, did you not think that 
the deceased was not in a fit state of mind to manaire 
his own affairs? and was not that the real reason why 
you never completed the execution of the will ?” — “ I 
certainly thought him very much excited and prejudiced 
on that particular point, and I felt that on the whole it 
would be better to give him time for reflection before 
completing the will.” 

“ In fact, you are prepared to swear that when you 
left him two weeks before his death, he was so much 
excited that his mind was not in its normal condition ?” 
— “ I think so.” 

Fosdyke was the last witness of any importance. It 
was now five o’clock, and everybody in court was ex- 
hausted. Ho one, therefore, was surprised when the 
judge announced that at this point the trial would be 
adjourned till the next day. Daisy was instantaneously 
spirited out of the dock ; but before she left the wait- 


192 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


ing-room below I was allowed to have a momentary in- 
terview with her. She was wan and worn ; but her 
sweet composure enabled me to keep up my courage in 
her presence, and to assure her that, so far as I knew, 
all was going well. 

Alas ! any delusions I might have entertained on that 
point were only too quickly dispelled. I had hardly 
finished Iny simple dinner at the Station Hotel, when 
Harding appeared at the door of my room to tell me 
that Mr. Belmore desired to have an immediate inter- 
view with me. 

I followed my friend to the room of the great advo- 
cate, who was also staying at the hotel. I found Mr. 
Belmore and our solicitor, Mr. Bryce, in serious con- 
sultation. 

I sent for you, Mr. Fenton,” said the famous lawyer, 
“that I might have a little frank talk with you. I 
understand that you are really the principal friend of 
Miss Stancliffe, and I have heard of the relationship in 
which you stand to each other. Now I want to tell 
you at once that she is in an almost desperate position. 
We shall do our best for her to-morrow, of course; but 
I must say candidly that I see no hope of avoiding a 
conviction. I have only two points to make — one is 
the possibility of a blunder on the part of the doctor in 
preparing Mr. Mauleverer’s medicine, and the other the 
chance that Mauleverer may have committed suicide. 
But I do not tliink I ever had a stronger case to meet, 
nor have I ever been compelled to trust to more worth- 
less straws than these.” 

I heard him with a dread that seemed to render me 
voiceless. 


1 


maitleverer’s millions. 


193 


‘‘Yes,” he continued, “we must not deceive our- 
selves. Everything is against us. But I am anxious to 
save this poor child if I can. I do not believe her to be 
guilty, and I hope that something may yet turn up to 
prove her innocence. I heard all that you have told my 
learned friend here, and I wish to give you some advice. 
You must move heaven and earth to find out, first, what 
has become of the strychnia which Miss Stanclifie 
bought, — for I do not believe that it has been destroyed, 
— and next where the man Gregson, of whom you have 
told Mr. Harding, is to be found. In my opinion he 
possesses the key to this mystery. But the first step 
you should take is to obtain a power of attorney from 
Miss Stanclifie, enabling you to act in relation to all her 
affairs as fully as she herself could do. This must be 
obtained, if possible, before her conviction ; and Mr. 
Bryce, who has an order for an interview with her, will 
get it from her to-night.” 

Then the great man shook me by the hand, and, ex- 
pressing his desire to help me in every possible way, 
politely bowed me from his room. 

I have no heart to write of the events of the next 
day. There was again the eager crowd of sight-seers in 
court, and again all the actors in the dismal tragedy ap- 
peared in their old places. The jury looked jaded after 
their night of confinement at a neighboring hotel ; and 
I was conscious that not merely upon myself, but upon 
my darling, the awful ordeal of the previous day, and of 
the sleepless night which followed, had told heavily. 
But she preserved the same air of sweet serenity which 
had distinguished her from the first. 

Mr. Hawk’s speech for the prosecution was the coldest, 
13 


194 


MAULEVERER’S MILLIONS. 


clearest, and most merciless exposition of the facts that 
could by any possibility have been laid before the jury. 
He was no novice at his work ; and I shudderingly felt 
when he sat down that he had not left a loophole by 
which Daisy could escape. That Mr. Mauleverer was 
undoubtedly poisoned by strychnia on the night of 
October 24, that the prisoner was the person who must 
have committed the crime, and that she had a strong 
motive for committing it — these were the three points 
which he labored to establish beyond the power of re- 
futation ; and it was only too clear that he did establish 
them in the minds of nearly everybody in court. 

Mr. Belmore took a very different line. His desire 
evidently was to get away as far as possible from the 
evidence, and in a speech which was full of impassioned 
and eloquent pleading, he dwelt upon the difficulty of 
imagining that a young girl like Daisy could ever have 
conceived, much less could have carried out, so deadly a 
plot against the life of her relative and benefactor. 
Nothing but absolutely convincing evidence could justify 
the jury in finding a verdict against her. But in this 
case where was there any absolute demonstration of her 
guilt ? Who could say that Mr. Mauleverer had not, 
under the infiuence of the excitement from which he 
was undoubtedly suffering, committed suicide? and in 
that case everybody knew the proverbial cunning with 
which a madman sought to hide the traces of his acts ; 
but even if this hypothesis were to be rejected, was it 
not possible, and even probable, that weak muddle- 
headed Dr. Garrick might have made another mistake, 
and by inadvertence given strychnia instead of bromide 
of potassium to his patient ? At all events, with these 


mauleverer’s MILLlOlSrS. 


195 


two possibilities staring them in the face, the jury would 
incur a terrible responsibility if they returned a verdict 
of guilty against the prisoner. 

I think that if the jury had given their verdict then 
it would have been in Daisy’s favor. But the summing 
up of the judge, clear, careful, and impartial, destroyed 
the effect of Belmore’s eloquent special pleading. 

I sat as in a dream, whilst the tedious formalities con- 
nected with the retirement of the jury were carried out. 
And then came half an hour of awful suspense, during 
which everybody remained in court save my darling and 
the juSge. I still recall with a sickening sense of horror 
that sudden lull in the hum of general conversation, 
which told us that the jury were returning to deliver 
their verdict. I see the judge hurrying back to the 
bench ; I see the twelve men with their grave set faces 
slowly filing into the box ; I hear, as though from a vast 
distance, the calling over of the names, and the demand 
of the clerk, ‘‘How say you, gentlemen, do you find the 
prisoner guilty or not guilty And then I am on my 
feet, with arms stretched out to where my love stands, 
deadly white but more beautiful than ever, with hands 
clasped and eyes turned towards heaven, which has just 
heard the monstrous verdict that is to brand her name 
with infamy and cut short her life upon the scaffold. 
For the jury have returned a verdict of “ Guilty,” and 
our last hope has been destroyed. 

Some one draws me back into my seat, and implores 
me, for her sake, to remain calm. I try to obey ; and I 
sit trembling from head to foot, amid the dread silence 
which now falls upon the erowded court, whilst, in the 
fewest possible words, the man to wliose hand the wield- 


196 


maulevereb’s millions. 


ing of the awful sword of justice has been intrusted pro- 
nounces my darling’s doom. 

And then I wake as from a trance. Daisy is gone ; 
the judge has departed ; counsel and solicitors, jurymen, 
witnesses and spectators are all hurrying away, as though 
from the theatre when the play is ended. Some one 
takes my arm. It is Harding, who has had time to doff 
his wig and gown, and who now leads me unresistingly 
from the hateful spot. 


CHAPTEE XIY. 

A EIFT IN THE CLOUDS. 

Two days elapsed before I was allowed to see Daisy 
after her condemnation. Even then I should hardly 
have been permitted to have an interview with her but 
for certain powerful influences which had been brought 
to bear on her behalf. Immediately after pronouncing 
sentence of death the judge had sent for Belmore, and 
had told him that he was by no means satisfled with the 
case as it stood, and that he had a strong conviction that 
the whole truth had not yet been learned. He found 
that Belmore entirely shared his views, and from him 
he heard of me and of the efforts which I was making 
to procure proof of my darling’s innocence. It was the 
good judge who smoothed the way for me with the. 
prison authorities, and who made it possible for me to 
have free communication with Daisy in lier cell. 

But it must not be supposed that we — for Harding 


mauleverer’s millions. 


197 


had formally devoted himself to my service in the task 
in which I was engaged — were idle during the two days 
of waiting before I was admitted to an interview with 
Daisy. Idle ! how could we be idle ? It was now the 
6th of December, and I had already been warned that 
the day on which the martyrdom of my darling was to 
be carried out was the 28th of the same month. But 
three weeks were given to us, therefore, in which to 
establish her innocence. Even Harding — good, kind, 
never-to-be-forgotten friend ! — declared that neither for 
food nor for sleep must one moment of that precious 
time be wasted unnecessarily. What then, think you, 
was my frame of mind ? 

Within a few hours of the passing of the sentence 
Harding was in London, where he secured the services 
of the most eminent private detective of the day. The 
special mission of this man was to find Gregson. My 
work on that dark day on which the trial ended was of 
a different kind. Putting all remembrance of the last 
few weeks aside, I went to Branksome and Fosdyke and 
appealed to them to assist me in the task I had under- 
taken. 

Dr. Branksome was just the same as he had ever 
been. Yes, I bitterly reflected, he was just the same ; 
as easy, cool, pleasant in his manner, now when Daisy 
was lying under sentence of death, as he had been on 
that first morning of my acquaintance with him, when 
he did the honors of the yacht for her and for me. I 
could not bear the thought of this cynical selfishness. 
I had been angry against him when I first knew that he 
believed Daisy to be guilty. Now I despised him for 
his heartlessness, and would willingly have turned my 


198 


matjleveree’s millions. 


back upon him forever, if it had not been that I felt he 
might give me help in the work of saving my darling. 

But very soon I found that this was not to be. I 
again told him my conviction that Flinter was the real 
instigator of Mr. Mauleverer’s murder, and I repeated 
the reasons which led me' to think so. It was the first 
time that Fosdyke had heard the story of my finding of 
the book on “ Forensic Medicine’’ on board the yacht, 
and of the way in which it opened at the pages dealing 
with poisoning by strychnia. I thought he seemed 
startled by my statement. It had no effect upon Brank- 
some, however. 

“ I see what you wish me to do, Fenton. You are 
anxious that I should find a victim for the gallows in 
the place of poor Daisy, and you suggest Flinter for the 
purpose.” 

‘‘And is that the way in which you speak of the 
girl whom you have known since she left her mother’s 
arms and whom you profess to love ?” I cried, in my 
indignation. “Dr. Branksome, if any one had asked 
me what I thought of you a few weeks ago, I should 
have said you were one of the noblest and truest men 
on the face of the earth ; but if any one were to put the 
question to me now, I should be forced to tell him that 
I had found you to be false as a friend and mean and 
lieartless as a man — one who can sit here in the full en- 
joyment of every luxury” — I had found the two at 
dinner — “ when the child who has looked up to him as 
a father is lying in the condemned cell ! Aye, and who 
can even answer the prayer that he would join in the 
attempt to save her from her doom, with a cold sneer!” 

He heard me without moving a muscle of his face, 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


199 


aod when he replied he spoke in his usual voice. It 
was just as pleasant and equable in its tones as it had 
ever been. 

“ I wish you success and Godspeed with all my heart, 
Mr. Fenton ; and for the sake of Daisy I forgive your 
injustice towards myself. But I tell you this, sir, plain- 
ly : I have been convinced of her guilt by the evidence 
laid before the court ; and whilst I am willing to join 
you in making every effort to obtain for her the mercy 
of the Crown, — nay, Mr. Fosdyke will tell you that I am 
already taking steps for that purpose, — I am not pre- 
pared to try to save her, whom I believe to be guilty, 
by throwing her sin upon another whom I know to be 
innocent.” 

What could I do in appealing to a man whose very 
cruelty was founded upon his love of what was right ? 
I could not answer his logic, and I saw that it would be 
useless to upbraid him. But in my heart I hated and 
despised him. 

“ Then,” I said at last, seeing that no help could be 
hoped for here, “ I shall act for myself, and if I have to 
spend every farthing I have in the world and to devote 
every day that remains to me of life to the task, you may 
depend upon it that I shall yet confound you all by 
proving her innocence.” 

Of my interview with Daisy, when at last I was ad- 
mitted to her in the condemned cell at the old Castle, I 
shall say nothing that does not bear directly upon the 
subsequent events. She was changed greatly when I 
saw her ; but she declared that 1 was far more seriously 
altered than she was. And probably she was right; for 
I had nothing of that noble courage and resignation 


200 


MAULEVEBEH^S MILLIONS. 


which had borne her up through all this time of agony. 
But I dared not spend the precious minutes in lovers’ 
talk. I had other work to do for her sake. 

My first business I felt must be to get from her her 
own theory, if she had one, regarding the murder ; and 
to prepare her way for that, I told her freely all my own 
suspicions, and the story of my abduction, of which she 
had only heard for the first time during the course of 
the trial. 

“ And you really believe that my uncle caused you 
to be spirited away in that fashion ? Depend upon it, 
dearest, you afe entirely deceived. My uncle was inno- 
cent.” 

“ Then who could have originated the plot ?” 

“ Flinter must have done so. Let me tell you all I 
know about him. He has been employed for nearly 
eight years at my uncle’s chief station at Wangoora — 
the place where we lived. I am told that he had been 
in some serious trouble, and that my uncle, who was 
usually one of the kindest as well as one of the most 
simple-hearted men, befriended him. Yery soon after 
he came to the station as an ordinary shepherd he saved 
my uncle’s life when he was nearly drowned in crossing 
a swollen river on our run. That, you may be sure, 
was never forgotten by my uncle. He very quickly 
raised him to one of the chief posts on the estate, and 
at the time that I came to live at Wangoora, six years 
ago, he was the constant companion of my uncle in his 
journeys, and had evidently secured his confidence.” 

‘‘But you spoke of him to me as dangerous.” 

“ Fes ; he is dangerous, and bad too. I very soon dis- 
covered that. But I cannot for a moment imagine that 


mauleverer^s millions. 


201 


he would have plotted against his benefactor’s life. He 
had everything to lose and nothing conceivable to gain 
by my uncle’s death.” 

That was perfectly true, and it was the one great 
stumbling-block in the way of my theory regarding the 
murder. Flinter undoubtedly had nothing to gain by it. 

“ Daisy,” I said, “ you must forgive me for question- 
ing you on a subject that has long puzzled me, but about 
which I saw that you did not wish to tell me anything. 
I want to know all that you can tell me about that man 
whom I saw in the railway-station here, on the day we 
first met. It is necessary that you should tell me all, 
my darling.” 

She blushed slightly, and then a faint smile lighted 
up her worn face. “ Ah, how happy an accident it was 
that led me to the carriage where you were seated that 
day ! I should have been without a friend now, but for 
that.” 

“ But about this man — Gregson ?” 

I should have told you all about him if there had 
been any opportunity of doing so after you spoke to me 
at the hall. For, do you know, that at one time he had 
tried to make me believe that he was in love with me, 
and when he found that I cared nothing whatever about 
him, he began to persecute me in a mean, paltry kind of 
way, till I positively became afraid of him.” 

“ Where was it that he first began to annoy you ?” 

“At Wangoora, about three years ago. You see he 
was my uncle’s confidential clerk, and came a great deal 
to the house. He had not then given way, as I fear he 
has done now, to bad habits ; and he was a great friend 
of Dr. ‘ Branksome’s. I never cared for him — in the 


202 


mauleverer’s millions. 


least.” Dear heart! she looked up at me with the 
happy smile of a maiden who tells her story for the first 
time to the man she loves, and for a moment we forgot 
all about the prison-bars, and the two women who sat 
mutely watching us at the other end of the cell. 

“ When he found that I did not care for him, he be- 
came, as I said, very disagreeable. He would try to 
waylay me and hint dreadful things about having me in 
his power ; and I think that very soon he came to hate 
me as much as he had once professed to like me. Then 
he became careless and disobedient in his work, and he 
quarrelled with Flinter and was insolent to Dr. Brank- 
some, and the end of it all was that he was dismissed.” 

“And what happened then ?” 

“ Oh, a great deal. He professed to have discovered 
some dreadful plot in which we were all engaged for the 
purpose of imposing upon my uncle. I laughed at him 
at the time ; for I knew of course that there was no plot 
of any kind, and I little dreamt of what was coming. 
But the man became hateful both to me and my uncle, 
especially when we found that he had actually followed 
us to England. I have never seen him, however, since 
that day at York.” 

“Tell me, dearest, who were the persons whom he 
charged with being in this plot ?” 

“ Oh, I believe I was the chief sinner of all. ' He sev- 
eral times met me when I was alone, and accused me of 
it Then he hated Flinter, and said dreadful things 
about him, and even about Dr. Branksome. But I never 
knew what the plot was to which he referred.” 

“Did Dr. Branksome know what the man was saying 
about him ?” 


MAULEVERER’s MILLION'S. 


203 


“ Of course he did. Why, I think that, next to me, 
he hated Dr. Branksome the most, and I remember his 
saying once that he could have him sent to penal servi- 
tude if he liked.’’ 

“ In Dr. Branksome’s presence 

“ Yes.” 

I was startled by what I had heard, for I remembered 
how Branksome had disclaimed any knowledge of the 
meaning of Gregson’s language to me in the railway- 
train, when I had reported it to him. Some strange 
fancies stole into my brain. 

“ Tell me, Daisy, what do you think of Dr. Brank- 
some himself ?” 

She glanced up at me, and that troubled, doubtful 
look which I had noticed more than once at Scarborough 
passed over her face. 

1 do not know how I can 'answer your question,” she 
said, after a pause, and speaking very slowly, as though 
weighing all her words. Dr. Branksome is a wonderful 
man. I never met any one like him. When I am with 
him he can make me do everything he wishes — or nearly 
everything. It is only when I am away from him that 
I doubt and fear him.” 

“ Then you do doubt and fear him sometimes ?” 

“ Yes : when he is not near me. When he is, I hardly 
seem to have any will of my own. It is very strange. 
I cannot explain it. Sometimes I think he is a very, 
very good man ; but there are times when I think very 
differently of him.” 

‘‘ When did you see him last, Daisy ?” I asked, feel- 
ing as though I were on the brink of some great dis- 
covery, - - 


204 


MAULEVEEEE^S MILLIONS. 


“ The day before the trial began. Did you not know ? 
Has he not told you 

“ He has told me nothing.” 

“ That is strange ; for he promised that he would do 
so. He brought me my will, which it seemed that it 
was necessary I should sign before I was tried.” 

“ Your will ! I don’t want to pry into your private 
affairs, my darling, but I must ask you if you left any- 
thing to Dr. Branksome ?” 

“Anything! Why, I left everything to him, of 
course — that is, everything but some little things I want 
you — ” She stopped, blushing rosy red. 

“Do you mean you left all your uncle’s fortune to 
Dr. Branksome ?” 

“ Yes : you see he was the trustee appointed by my 
uncle, and he did not need to tell me that he was the 
only person to whom I could leave my uncle’s money.” 

In an instant I saw, as when the blaze of summer 
lightning illuminates the wide landscape for miles at a 
stretch, the whole conspiracy, in the toils of which my 
darling had been caught. But that vivid flash of con- 
sciousness faded almost as quickly as it came, and left 
me once more groping in the twilight — not, however, 
before I had taken my bearings, as it were, afresh, and 
had seen that our real position was altogether different 
from what, up to that moment, I had imagined it to be. 

“ Daisy,” I said, trying hard to subdue my excitement, 
“ are you aware that the power of attorney which you 
signed the other day makes me for the present absolute 
master of all your property ? You have constituted me 
your other self. Whilst you are in confinement here, I 
can go where I will and do what I please in your name. 


mauleverek’s millions. 


205 


as your representative. Are you willing that. I should 
make full use of these powers 

“ Oh, yes,” she cried, “ who can use them better 

‘‘ Then, darling, I shall make my first use of them by 
putting a veto upon you. I want you to promise that 
you will on no account allow Dr. Branksome to see you 
until we meet again. You know they will allow no one 
to visit you now unless you desire it. Will you promise 

“ I will promise anything you wish.” 

“ Then I must tell you that I shall go direct from here 
to Great Lorton, in order that I may search the hall from 
the roof to the cellars, if necessary, for proof of your in- 
nocence. The first thing I have to find is that parcel of 
strychnia. Can you help me ?” 

She shook her head doubtfully. “ I wish I could ; but 
I cannot recall what I did with it.” 

“ By the way,” I said, do you know this ?” I took 
from my pocket the rusted knife or dagger which I had 
found on my bed on the night that I slept at the hall. 

She looked at it, and then the color dyed her cheeks 
once more. 

“ Where did you find it ?” she asked. 

“ In my bedroom — the haunted chamber.” 

‘‘Ah, I remember!” she cried, “I remember now 
where I placed the poison ! It is in the secret passage 
leading to the haunted room.” 

“ Do you indeed remember, my darling ? Are you 
sure ?” ' 

“ Quite, quite sure. Stay, let me tell you all. On 
that night when my uncle heard, after he had said good- 
night to you, of what had passed between us in the 
garden, he came to my room. I had not gone to bed; 


206 


mauleverer’s millions. 


for I was thinking of all that you had been saying to 
me. We had a dreadful scene, as you know. Some one 
had poisoned his mind. He told me I should never see 
you again, and I was in despair. Then I remembered 
that you were to sleep in the haunted room, and that 
there was a private stair leading to it from the drawing- 
room corridor. I resolved to send you a letter, so that 
you might not leave the hall thinking that I was un- 
faithful to you. My maid and I had discovered the 
passage shortly before, and knew that it led up to your 
room, which was entered by means of a sliding panel. 
I wrote the note, and gave it to her to take to your 
chamber when she was certain you were asleep. She 
went with it ; but returned almost immediately, to say 
that she could not move the panel. We looked about for 
something by which to open it, and I saw this old knife 
in its sheath. It was given to me as a curiosity, years 
ago, by an old sailor. Taylor, my maid, took the knife, 
and went back to your room. When she returned she 
told me that she had placed the note upon your pillow, 
but that at the moment when she did so you had moved 
in your sleep ; and in her fright she had left the room 
at once, forgetting to bring the knife with her.” 

‘‘ Then there was no ghost but the one you sent to 
me, darling ! But about the strychnia ; for that is the 
most important thing of all now.” 

“ I placed it on a shelf over the door by which the 
secret stair is entered. It was the sight of the knife 
which reminded me immediately of the place.” 

I rose breathless with excitement. 

“My darling, by God’s help, all will yet be well. 
But I must not delay a moment longer now.” 


mauleveree’§ millions. 


207 


I strained her in my arms, and kissed her passionately 
Half an hour afterwards I was on my way to Great Lor- 
ton, having dispatched a telegram to Mr. Eastmead, beg- 
ging him to meet me at the Barton railway-station. 

I found the Chief Constable waiting for me on the 
platform at Barton. Like other men “ in the force,” he 
was probably happier when engaged in bringing a crimi- 
nal to justice than when he was saving an innocent per- 
son from an unjust punishment. But in Daisy’s case 
he showed as much zeal as though he had been one of 
her personal friends, and I had no need to complain of 
the interest he displayed when I told him the errand 
upon which I was bent, and the important facts which 
I had elicited during my visit to the prison. 

“ I want you to accompany me in my search through 
the hall, Mr. Eastmead, both because you will be an un- 
impeachable witness regarding any discoveries I may 
make, and because I may need to appeal to the aid of 
the law in my task. For you will understand that I 
shall not do things by halves. This power of attorney 
makes me Miss Stancliffe’s legal representative, and I 
shall use all my rights under it, not only to prove her 
innocence, but, if possible, to discover who the guilty 
person is.” 

“ You have set yourself a hard task, Mr. Fenton,” he 
replied ; “ but there is some hope of success ; for I am 
quite certain that, as yet, we do not know the truth.” 

We had to walk from Little Lorton station to the hall. 
My interview with Daisy had taken place in the early 
morning, and it was barely two o’clock in the afternoon 
when I found myself once more standing on the broad 
terrace in front of the quaint old house. 


208 


matjleveree’s millions. 


The first person I saw was the evil-omened Flinter. 
He came forward with an insolent air and demanded 
my business. 

‘‘ My business, sir, might very well be to give you 
into custody for the outrage which you committed upon 
me. As it is, I am here in the exercise of my rights, and 
have nothing to say to you.” 

“You won’t get into the hall, at all events,” he said 
doggedly. 

“ Hone of that nonsense,” interposed the Chief Con- 
stable, “ or I shall have to take you into my hands, my 
man. Mr. Fenton, I imagine, is the only person who 
has any rights here, if it comes to that.” 

At that moment I saw Dr. Branksome sauntering 
along the terrace, from the direction of the garden. He 
looked genuinely surprised when he saw who it was with 
whom Flinter was having this altercation. He came 
forward with quickened step, and his usual air of bland 
gravity. 

“ Mr. Fenton ! Mr. Eastmead ! This is an unexpected 
pleasure.” 

“ Possibly,” I said, all the suspicions of the man which 
during the last few hours had risen in my mind betray- 
ing themselves in my face and voice. “ I am here, how- 
ever, Dr. Branksome, as the representative of Miss 
Stanclifie, and, as you will see, I am accompanied by 
Mr. Eastmead, as the representative of the law.” 

“ I think, sir, you forget yourself,” replied Brank- 
some. “ I have no wish to cast any doubts upon the 
sincerity of your interest in the unfortunate lady whose 
guardian I am, but I have the honor to be the only per- 
son who can claim to be her legal representative.” 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


209 


My hot blood mounted to my cheeks, and I was about 
to answer him angrily, when Eastmead again interposed. 

“ This gentleman. Dr. Branksome, acts under a power 
of attorney from Miss StanclifEe. You will hardly dis- 
pute his right to represent her when you know that.” 

‘‘A power of attorney! Monstrous! Impossible! 
She would never have signed such a document without 
consulting me.” 

“ Dr. Branksome,” I said, “ we will not bandy words, 
if you please. I hold this power of attorney, and I thank 
God that I do so ; and now I am going into this house 
to look for, and I believe to find, the proofs of the in- 
nocence of the girl whom you professed to shield and 
left to die.” 

“ My dear fellow,” retorted Branksome, with just the 
suspicion of a sneer in his tones, “ why will you be 
always so melodramatic ? If you had told me at first 
what your object was, you would not have needed any 
power of attorney to get admittance to this house. By 
all means enter and welcome !” 

He threw open the door in front of which we had 
been standing, and, bowing politely, waited till we had 
preceded him. 

In the hall I turned and said, “ I have come here. Dr. 
Branksome, to make a general search through the house ; 
and although, as Miss Stanclifie’s legally-appointed rep- 
resentative, I can take any course I please, I have no 
objection to your accompanying me in that search.” 

“ My good sir,” he retorted, “ I think you must really 
excuse me. You have not come here in a very friendly 
fashion this afternoon, and you can hardly be surprised 
if, under the circumstances, I conceive that it may be 
14 


210 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


more satisfactory to yourself, as it certainly will be to 
me, that you should go about your work in your own 
way. At the same time, whenever you wish for lunch- 
eon you will find it on the table, and I shall be happy 
to join you. Of course, as Miss Stancliffe’s representa- 
tive, you need have no feeling of delicacy about making 
your wishes in that matter known.” 

His perfect coolness and composure had. their effect 
upon me, and that lightning fiash in which I had seen 
him for an instant as a villain of colossal iniquity faded 
more and more completely from my memory. 

But I lost no time in beginning my search. Mary Tay- 
lor, Daisy’s maid, was summoned and came quickly, as 
did Mrs. Cawthorne, who had returned broken-hearted 
to the hall at the close of the trial. I soon explained 
to the girl that what we wanted to see was the door 
leading to the private staircase. She looked somewhat 
confused when I told her this ; probably she recollected 
the last occasion on which she had herself made use of 
that door. 

We found that the door was in one of the panelled 
recesses of the drawing-room corridor. It had no han- 
dle, and any one might have passed it a hundred times 
without perceiving its existence. Taylor pressed the 
door in the middle, and it slowly opened, revealing a 
staircase, narrow, dirty, and dusty, beyond. 

“ Mr. Eastmead,” I said, “ you represent the law, and 
I leave it to you to make the first attempt to verify 
the statement which Miss Stancliffe has made to me.” 

‘‘Bring a light here,” said the officer ; and one of' the 
many servants, who were watching us in wonder, darted 
into the adjoining room, and quickly reappeared with 


mauleverer’s millions. 


211 


a lighted wax-candle. Taking this in his hand, East- 
mead passed through the door. I could see him moving 
the candle to and fro, and then lie uttered a slight ex- 
clamation, and closed the door upon us. Immediately 
afterwards he opened it, and came out into the corridor, 
begrimed with dust and cobwebs, but wearing an air of 
triumph on his face. 

I have found this on the narrow ledge or shelf above 
the door inside,” he said. 

He held out to me, as he spoke, a small parcel wrapped 
in paper that had once been white. I seized it with 
feverish eagerness. Pasted upon it was a label bearing 
in writing the address, “ Miss Stancliffe, Great Lorton 
Hall,” and in print the word “ Poison” in large letters, 
and the name and address of Smirke, the Little Lorton 
chemist. The parcel was sealed, and we saw that the 
seal bore Smirke’s name. 

I could not restrain the cry of joy and thankfulness 
which broke from my lips. 

“ My friends,” I said to the men and women around 
me, “ your poor mistress will yet be saved.” 

Mrs. Cawthorne burst into tears, as did most of the 
women. I can only answer for myself among the men. 
I could not keep back the tears of joy which were well- 
ing from my eyes. 

It now occurred to me that, as most of the rooms in 
the hall had been searched by the police under Mr. East- 
mead himself at the time of Daisy’s arrest, I might be- 
gin my own investigation by exploring this secret pas- 
sage in which we had already found so important a piece 
of evidence. Bidding the servants remain where they 
were, we slowly climbed the narrow winding stair. It 


212 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


led into a corridor equally narrow and very long, un- 
liglited and ill-ventilated, so that more than once the 
candle which Eastmead carried seemed to be on the point 
of expiring. 

At the end was apparently a blank wall of dark oak. 
But looking closely at it, I detected the place where the 
girl had introduced the knife on the night when she 
brought to me the note from Daisy. I had brought the 
knife with me, and in another instant, by means of it, 
I had caused the panel to slide into a recess. It revealed 
an opening of the depth of the wall, beyond which 
there was another panel. This I was able to move with- 
out difficulty. I pushed it aside with my hand. Still 
the way was barred, but upon this occasion it was by noth- 
ing more substantial than the heavy leather hangings of 
the haunted room. Great ingenuity had been shown in 
the arrangement by which an opening could be made at 
will through these hangings, without any evidence of 
its existence being afforded to an occupant of the room. 

Once more I found myself in that well-remembered 
chamber. It looked cold and dark despite its handsome 
furniture. Apparently it had not been occupied since 
the night when I slept there. I opened the door lead- 
ing into the little sitting-room where I had breakfasted 
by myself on the morning on which I left the hall. To 
my surprise it showed signs of having been recently oc- 
cupied. There was a book lying on the table. I recog- 
nized it instantly. It was the copy of Guy and Ferrier’s 
“ Forensic Medicine” which I had studied so intently 
during my imprisonment on board the yacht. 

“We are in the enemy’s stronghold,” I said to East-, 
mead. And I bade him take the book in his hand aud 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


213 


see where it opened. He did so with the result which 
I expected. 

He sliook his head gravely. “ I think, Mr. Fenton, 
we shall be justified in taking a very close look at any- 
thing we can find here.” 

There were several books on the table. They were 
for the most part old account-books, some of them 
bearing Flinter’s name. They apparently related to 
transactions which had taken place some years pre- 
viously in Australia. One volume was of a different 
kind. It was a cheap metallic memorandum-book, such 
as a man like Flinter might very weH have used for the 
purpose of keeping notes of incidents of importance. 
Eastmead took it up and opened it. For some time he 
appeared to be examining it, with a look of bewilder- 
ment on his honest face. 

‘‘ I can’t make anything of this, can you ? Is it Greek 

He handed the open book to me, and to my disap- 
pointment I saw that, whatever might be the nature of 
its contents, I was none the wiser through possessing it. 
Every page was covered with cabalistic marks like noth- 
ing I had ever seen before. 

“ I think we may as well leave that behind us,” said 
the Chief Constable. “ But I am going to take these 
other books to examine at my leisure.” 

I acquiesced for the moment in his proposal to leave 
the little note-book in cipher -where we had found it ; 
but before we had completed our close examination of 
the two rooms, I had changed my mind ; and, without 
any scruple regarding the robbery I was committing 
upon the unconscious Flinter, I slipped the volume into 
my pocket. 


214 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


It would be tedious to tell of the long hours which 
we spent in examining the other portions of the hall. 
Nowhere did we find any evidence that seemed to bear 
upon the crime of which the place had been the scene. 
Indeed, Eastmead warned me beforehand that this would 
probably be the result. The one part of the hall which 
had escaped his notice on his first visit had been the 
secret staircase. The other articles which we had found, 
and which might possibly be of use against Flinter, had 
evidently been brought to the hall after our party had 
landed from the yacht, and consequently after Daisy’s 
arrest. 

When our tedious task was completed, we went to the 
dining-room, where we found Dr. Branksome awaiting 
us. Cold meat and wine were upon the table ; and we 
were so thoroughly exhausted by our labors that we were 
glad to make a hurried meal before departing to catch 
the last train to York. I did not care to talk much to 
Branksome. He had heard of the discovery of the 
strychnia, but said wonderfully little about it. I thought, 
indeed, that for once something must have occurred to 
stay the flow of his brilliant conversation. 


CHAPTER XV. 

JAMES GREGSON’s STORY. 

It was late at night when I got back to York, excited 
and elated by the great discovery I had made. A letter 
from Harding awaited me, in which he told of the steps 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


215 


he was taking for the purpose of finding Gregson. 
Through the celebrated detective Max Bielski he be- 
lieved that he might at last get on his track, though 
the chase would undoubtedly be a difficult one. I did 
not go to bed until I had answered the letter, and given 
Harding a full account of my visit to the hall. I con- 
cluded by imploring him to come to me at once, if that 
were possible, so that we might advise as to the next 
measures to be taken. 

“ A gentleman is waiting to see you, sir, downstairs.” 
It was early the next morning, whilst I was at breakfast 
in my private room at the hotel, that I received this in- 
timation. 

“ Do you know his name ?” 

“Ho, sir; he would not give me his name, but he said 
I. was to tell you that he came from Mr. Harding.” 

“ Show him up at once.” 

The stranger was a short man, with powerful frame, 
clean-shaven face, and bright eyes that seemed to see 
everything at once. 

“ Beg pardon, sir, for intruding,” he said, addressing 
me with a business-like air ; “ I thought you might not 
wish to have my name spread over the house, for you 
see it is rather a well-known name now, sir ; I am the 
detective Mr. Harding has been employing, on your ac- 
count I believe.” 

“Mr. Bielski?” 

“ Yes, Max Bielski at your service, sir.” He pulled 
a note-book out of his pocket and opening it continued : 
“ I understand you want to meet with a party of the 
name of James Gregson, aged about tliirty, tall and fair- 
haired. Well, Mr. Fentonj don’t be offended, but I must 


216 


mauleveeee’s millions. 


tell you at once that that description won’t give me any 
help in finding the man. You see, sir, there are thou- 
sands of tall fair-haired men of thirty walking about the 
streets; and as for the name, you. may be sure that Mr. 
Gregson is not Mr. Gregson now, if he has any reason 
to wish to keep in hiding. You will have to tell me 
sometliing more.” 

‘‘ But I am afraid that is just what I cannot do.” 

“Well, we’ll see, sir. You must excuse me putting 
you through your catechism, Mr. Fenton. It must be 
done if I’m to lay hold of your man.” 

And in a surprisingly short space of time Mr. Bielski 
had made himself the master of all the particulars, good, 
bad, and indifferent, which I knew about Gregson, in- 
cluding even the -story Daisy had told me. When I told 
him of the photograph of Daisy I had picked up in the 
railway-carriage, after Gregson left it, he at once asked 
me for it ; and — very reluctantly — for it was the only 
portrait of my darling which I possessed — I parted with 
it to him. 

At the end of an interview of three quarters of an 
hour the detective pulled out his watch, and rising 
hastily said, “ I must be off, sir. I’ve just time to catch 
the express back to town.” 

“ But are you going to London to find Gregson ? My 
own opinion is that you’ll find him somewhere about 
here.” 

“ That is my opinion also, sir ; and no doubt if I had 
three months to spare I could lay a heavy wager that I 
should ‘nab’ him in this very city of York before the 
end of that time. But you see, sir, it is a matter of life 
and death ; and a single day might make all the differ- 


mauleverer’s millions. 


217 


ence ; so I must follow the safe clue you have given me 
and not the uncertain one.” 

“ And what is the safe clue 

“ The time about which Gregson landed in England 
from Melbourne. That is all I have to go upon. I 
must track him down from that hour to the present. 
Good-day to you, sir.” And in another instant he 
was hurrying off to catch the ten-o’clock express to 
town. 

The remainder of that day I spent in consultation 
with our solicitor, and in awaiting the arrival of Hard- 
ing. He came to York by an evening train, and pressed 
my hand affectionately when we met upon the railway- 
platform. 

“ What do you say, Harding ; shall we apply to the 
Home Secretary at once on the strength of the discovery 
of the strychnia ?” 

“ Ho, we must wait. Don’t look disappointed, my 
dear fellow. As soon as I received your letter this morn- 
ing, I hurried off to Bel more’s chambers, and was fortu- 
nate enough to get five minutes of his precious time. 
Indeed, I believe he gave me fully fifteen minutes, if 
the truth must be told. I read your letter to him, and 
asked him his advice. ‘ I should like to consult Grange 
before I say anything,’ was his answer.” 

“ You mean the judge.” 

“ Precisely. Our one hope, you know, is in the judge. 
It will rest with him in the end whether there is to be a 
pardon or not; and Belmore, who knows that all his 
sympathies are on our side, is anxious to take him along 
with us in every step.” 

Accustomed as I had been to see in a judge only the 


218 


mauleveeee’s millions. 


awful being clothed in a mediaeval costume, who dis- 
pensed life and death, liberty and slavery, from the 
judgment-seat, I could hardly realize the fact that such 
a man should be full of active human sympathy, even 
,011 behalf of a fellow-creature whom he had just doomed 
to the gallows. So it was, however. 

“Well,” continued Harding, “I had a note at four 
o’clock from Belmore to say that Grange was very much 
pleased to hear of this discovery, which would of course 
need to be properly authenticated ; but that something 
further must be obtained — something if possible tending 
to break down the evidence as to motive — before any 
steps were taken at the Home Office. You see it is not 
a commutation of the sentence that we want — it is a 
free pardon.” 

“Yes,” I answered, feeling depressed and disap- 
pointed, for I had thought that all our troubles were at 
an end now that we had discovered the strychnia, “ I 
suppose we must go on, but I confess that I seem to be 
at the end of my resources.” 

“How, my good fellow, you must not give up in 
despair. Let us wait until we have caught Gregson. 
Who knows what he can tell us f ’ 

I sat in gloomy meditation. Four precious days had 
already passed. It is true that they had not been 
wasted ; but Daisy still lay under her awful doom, 
which was hourly drawing nearer to her. A heavy 
sigh broke from my lips. 

Harding, evidently anxious to divert my thoughts, 
asked me to tell him all the particulars of my visit to 
the hall, and I complied with his request. 


mauleverer’s millions'. 


219 


“ Have you got the memorandum- book you picked up 
in the room Flinter had been' using?” 

“Yes,” I said, and threw it across the table to him. 
He opened it and looked at it long and carefully. 
Alas ! Hothing was to be made out of it. Page after 
page was filled with hieroglyphics like the following ; 


■ ^ / 


4 ^ \ n/y 






' ' 4/ h> ^ S/i/ ^ ^ 

-i- % ^ / 

L ’ 


<c^/ y h 

■J . / «- 

“i. /^* 

s' -t-i L 

o A 




:'y^/ - 





220 


mauleveber’s millions. 


Harding studied the book for nearly half an hour, 
often making jottings on a sheet of paper, and referring 
again and again to particular pages. He laid it down 
wearily at last. 

“ I can do nothing with it,” he said. ‘‘ It is evidently 
some very intricate form of cipher. Such things are to 
be read, however, and we must have this read. We 
cannot afford to lose any chance of hitting upon a clue.” 

“ But whom can you get to read it ?” 

“We must think that over. Perhaps Bielski may be 
able, to give us some assistance.” 

The next day was spent in a journey to Barton at the 
request of Eastmead. From Barton we went with 
Eastmead to Little Lorton for the purpose of seeing 
Smirke the chemist. That person immediately recog- 
nized the parcel found in the secret staircase at the hall 
as being that in which he had wrapped the strychnia 
sold to Daisy. But he was able to afford additional 
proof of the identity of the parcel. On removing the 
sealed outer wrapper he showed us an inner covering, 
on which the label was repeated, with the address, and 
in addition the date, “Oct. Yth,” in the chemist’s own 
handwriting. There was, therefore, no longer any doubt 
that so. far as the mere possession of strychnia at the 
time of the murder was concerned the evidence given 
against Daisy at her trial had been absolutely neutral- 
ized. Affidavits describing the discovery and identifi- 
cation of the parcel were duly made on the same day by 
Smirke, Eastmead, and myself, before one of the Bar- 
ton magistrates. 

Two days passed without any further progress being 
made. It was a whole week since Daisy’s condemna- 


mauleverer’S millions. 


221 


tion, and only two more remained to ns in wliicli to save 
her. My impatience was at fever height, and Harding 
had a hard task to keep me in any degree calm or self- 
possessed. I had not dared to seek another interview 
with my darling. Until the question of life and death 
was settled in one way or the other, I felt that to see 
her once more would only be to torture her uselessly, 
and to rob me of the little strength which I still had left. 
But through the chaplain of the jail I was in constant 
communication with her. Every day I wrote to her, 
and she knew that I was living for her sake and hers 
alone. 

This first week, I say, had come to an end before we 
heard anything more of Bielskii It was Sunday even- 
ing, and I was sitting by myself, wearily seeking for 
some fresh clue which might hitherto have escaped my 
attention, when the detective was suddenly ushered into 
my room. 

“Good-evening, Mr. Fenton. Fm afraid you think 
I have been a long time over my work ; but it has been 
as stiff a job as I have had for some time. The fellow 
has done nothing but double and take fresh names. If 
it had not been for that photograph you lent to me, I 
should have been baffled at last.” 

“ And you — have you found him I cried eagerly. 

“ Yes, sir, he’s here at your service ; but before I 
bring him in to see you I should like to give you a hint. 
I don’t know whether you’ll find him a willing witness 
or the reverse ; but if the latter, just ask him if he re- 
members Smith and Sharp, of Gracechurch Street. That 
will fetch him soon enough, sir. You see he got into 
trouble there ten years ago, and has been wanted ever 


222 mauleverer’s millions. 

since. I’ll wait outside till you have had your talk with 
him.” 

He was leaving the room, when Harding, who had 
just heard of the detective’s arrival, entered, and in a 
few words was informed of the situation. 

“ Let Bielski make himself - useful whilst he is wait- 
ing,” said Harding; ‘^give him that memorandum- 
book.” 

I handed the little note-book to the detective. He 
looked at it gravely. 

“ I wonder if I can crack this nut ! It’s a hard one ; 
but I’ll try.” 

We withdrew, and in two minutes the door was 
opened, and Mr. James Gregson entered with the im- 
*pudent smile upon his face wliich I knew so well. Bow- 
ing with an air of familiarity which was not without a 
distinct touch of insolence, he looked from me to Hard- 
ing, as though inquiring the reason which had led us 
to take so much trouble to find him. Beneath this out- 
ward assumption of self-confidence I thought I could 
catch signs that the fellow was not quite so much at his 
ease as he wished to appear. I invited him to take a 
seat, and gravely stated to him the object I had in seek- 
ing him out. 

He looked up at me with a satirical smile on his lips 
when I had finished my statement. 

“So you think I can clear your friend Miss Stan- 
cliffe, do you ?” 

“ I hope you can throw some light upon the mystery 
that surrounds Mr. Mauleverer’s death.” 

He laughed outright. “Of course I can do that; 
but you have come to the wrong man for information 


mauleverer’s millions. 


223 


that will clear Miss Daisy. Have you forgotten what I 
told you in the rail way- train when you were on your 
way to the old man’s house 

“ It is precisely because I have not forgotten it that I 
have desired to see you again. You spoke then of a 
conspiracy to commit murder. I want you to be kind 
enough to tell me frankly what you meant by your 
words. You remember that you charged not only Miss 
Stancliffe, but Flinter and Dr. Branksome, and myself 
as well, with being in some plot. What did you mean 
byitr 

“ Oh, don’t be afraid on your own account, Mr. Fen- 
ton. I know now that you were not in the plot. You 
were only the dupe, and a very simple one too.” 

I was determined tliat, come what might, I should 
not lose my temper during this interview of such vital 
importance to my darling. Tlie more I saw of the man 
the more certain I became that he did not speak with- 
out knowledge; and when I observed the growing 
gravity of Harding’s face, I felt sure that he also enter- 
tained the same conviction. I took no notice, there- 
fore, of Gregson’s sneer, but repeated my question. 

“ Tell me, if you please, what was the nature of the 
plot of which you spoke ?” 

“ Is it possible,” he retorted, that you are so dull as 
not to see the nature of the plot for yourself now % I 
should have given you credit for being not quite so 
stupid as you appear to me. Good Lord ! The whole 
thing has been carried out under your nose, and now that 
it is finished you come to me to tell you what it means!” 

‘‘ Pray take pity, then, on iny stupidity, and tell me 
all !” 


224 


mauleverer’s millions. 


“ Oh dear, no !” he said with a mocking laugh. “ My 
secret is worth a good deal more to me than it can be 
to you.’’ 

“ Is it money that you want for telling the truth ? If 
so — ” 

‘‘ Yes, it is money ; but I don’t want any from you. 
You are a very clever fellow, I dare say, in your own 
opinion, and a very knowing one ; but you must not 
think you can buy me.” 

“Well, kindly say what you are prepared to tell me 
without being bought.” 

“Just this, Mr. — Mr. — I declare I forget your name. 
What I told you would happen when I saw you in the 
train has all come true. Mauleverer has been murdered 
by the gang who have been plotting against his life for 
years, and who are now going to get clean off with the 
swag — all but one of them ; and thanks to some stupid 
blundering on their part, — or perhaps I ought to say on 
your part, mister, for I’m told you have meddled a good 
bit in the business, — she’ll be hanged. That’s all.” 

The malice of the man revealed itself in the tones in 
which he spoke. I kept my temper, however, but I 
saw at the same time that the moment had arrived 
when I ought to use the weapon entrusted to me by 
the detective. 

“Mr. Gregson,” I said, “since that is the name by 
which you choose to call yourself, you are making a 
great mistake in supposing that I am quite so helpless 
as you imagine. I time the means of making you 
speak, and by Heaven, sir. I’ll use them, and quickly 
too, or make you pay dearly for your silence.” 

He looked up at me with a startled air. The fellow 


mauleverer’s millions. 


225 


was a cur, and at the first straight blow lie appeared to 
be more than half inclined to succumb. But he recov- 
ered himself after a momentary pause. 

“ I don’t know what you are talking about. First of 
all you want to bribe me, and then you try bullying. 
I’ve not come here to be either bought or sold.” 

“ Then, perhaps, as you don’t want to be sold, you 
will tell me your story without compelling me to sum- 
mon the detective who is waiting in the next room, in 
order that I may make a communication to him about 
yourself and Smith and Sharp, of Gracechurch Street.” 

The stroke told even more quickly and completely 
than I had dared to hope. A ghastly pallor overspread 
the fellow’s face, and he sat for more than a minute 
speechless, staring at me with eyes full of terror. 

“ You don’t mean to bring that up against me after 
all these years ? Good God ! how have you got to know 
anything about it?” After a pause he continued : “ Well, 
I’ll tell you as much as I can if you'll promise not to 
give me up.” 

If you tell me everything, you will be quite safe 
so far as I am concerned. If you do not, then you 
must take the consequences.” 

All his assumed ease had vanished, and he sat before 
us now as abject a craven as I have ever seen. Bielski’s 
secret had worked like magic. In’ a faltering voice the 
wretched creature asked if he might have “a drop of 
brandy” before he began his story, and I was by no 
means sorry to supply him with it. Then he began 
and unfolded the marvellous tale which I shall repeat 
in his own words, merely omitting his redundancies of 
speech. 

15 


226 


mauleverer’s millions. 


“They have been plotting against Mauleverer ever 
since I’ve known him, and that is seven years. Whom 
do I mean by they ? I mean Dr. Branksome and his 
gang; that is, Flinter and the girl Daisy, and' a lot of 
fellows in Australia, and now tliey have got this Fos- 
dyke into the business. You see it has been a regular 
company, and they have been working it for years. 
Talk of gold-mining ; but there is no gold-mine in all 
Australia that will yield half so much as Mr. Maulev- 
erer. So you need not wonder that the whole party 
— there are some of them still over there — have been 
working at the business for years past. At one time I 
know they meant to make an end of the old man in 
his own house at Wangoora. But you see some of 
them had got a bit blown upon there, and they were 
afraid that if anything happened it would not do; so 
then the doctor hit upon the plan of bringing him away 
to England, and getting rid of him quietly, at a time 
when the worst members of the gang were at the other 
side of the world.” 

“ But how could it profit Dr. Branksome to kill Mr. 
Mauleverer? He was not his heir.” 

“Ho; that is just it. But the plot began a great 
deal sooner than you seem to suppose. It began nearly 
twenty years ago. At that time Mauleverer had no 
heir. His only sisteV had died childless, and there was 
neither kith nor kin to come after him.” 

“ His sister childless ! Why, Miss Stancliffe had been 
born then.” 

Just so; only in those days she was Miss Somebody 
else; Miss Stanclifie, as you call her, had not been 
thought of at that time.” 


mauleverer’s millions. 


227 


Harding uttered a low cry of amazement. I found 
it difficult to put the next question. 

“ Wliat in Heaven’s name do you mean 

“ I mean,” he said doggedly, “ that it was a plant 
from the very beginning! Dr. Branksome and his 
party were determined to get every farthing of the old 
man’s money. He had no heir, and so they found one 
for him, and planted her on him successfully. ” 

But why should they have fixed upon Miss Stan- 
cliffe ? What good did they imagine it would do them, 
supposing that he did leave everything to her ?” 

The sneering smile appeared on the fellow’s face 
again. 

“Keally,” he said, “you are not very bright. They 
must have found it easy to make a fool of you. Daisy 
was adopted by the doctor’s wife when she was little 
more than a baby. She lived in the doctor’s house for 
a dozen years or more, and Branksome got such an influ- 
ence over her, that he knew he could twist her round 
his fingers, exactly as he pleased. Why, I bet you two 
to one that she has made her will in his favor since 
her arrest.” 

I could not command my countenance entirely when 
I heard this direct guess at the truth. It brought with 
it to my mind a terrible confirmation of the truthful- 
ness of this unwilling witness. 

“ I see you know something about it,” he continued. 
“ Well, it is just as I thought it would be. They never 
meant the girl to share with them. She was to have all 
the kicks, whilst they got all the ha’pence. It would 
have been different, though, if she had listened to me.” 

“ I don’t want either to throw doubt upon your story 


228 


MAULEVEREE'S MILLIONS. 


or to seem to accept it without further inquiry ; but I 
must ask you to tell me who, in your belief, Miss Stan- 
cliffe is 

‘‘Did I not tell you just now? No. Well, she is 
the daughter, I am told, of a poor old parson named 
Sheldon, who died at Melbourne twenty years ago. 
Idis wife lived twelve or eighteen months after him, and 
then she died, too, and Daisy was left a little child, with- 
out a friend in the world. It was then, as I’ve said, 
that Mrs. Branksome took pity on her, and adopted her. 
She was a good woman was the doctor’s wife, and he 
never dared to carry out his plot about Daisy until she 
was gone. God knows whether he did not help her off 
in the end. He was equal to it. At all events, as soon 
as she died, Branksome goes to poor old Mauleverer, 
and tells him the whole tale — the tale he had made up — 
how he had kept the secret of Daisy’s real birth until 
then, partly because of his promise to her mother, and 
partly for his wife’s sake, as she would never have parted 
with the girl. Mauleverer swallowed the bait whole, 
and from that time Branksome had complete command 
not only over Daisy, but over the old man also.” 

“ How have you got to learn all this ?” 

“ That’s my business,” he said in sullen tones. But 
immediately some swift fear of the consequences of 
giving me offence took possession of his mind. “ If you 
must know, I learned it all from an old servant of Brank- 
some’s whom I got hold of. I always suspected there 
was something wrong, and after Branksome quarrelled 
with me, and got me dismissed by Mauleverer, I wormed 
the truth out of the old woman.” 

Harding and I were so much astounded by the extra- ' 


mauleverer’s millions. 


229 


ordinary revelation thus made to us, that neither of us 
felt capable of carrying Gregson’s examination further. 
Strange as it may seem, we had no doubt as to the truth 
of his story. Rascal as the fellow unmistakably was, he 
liad told his tale in a manner which compelled our ac- 
ceptance of it. I sat bewildered, almost paralyzed, by 
the nature of his statements. Daisy not the niece of 
Mauleverer ! And Branksome the head of a gang of 
scoundrels, whose diabolical plot against the life of the 
millionaire had only now been carried out, after years of 
careful preparation ! It seemed incredible, and yet in 
my heart I felt certain that it was true. 

Harding was the first to recover the full use of his 
faculties. 

‘‘ Will you be good enough,” he said, addressing 
Gregson, to give us your opinion, if you have one, as 
to the way in which Mr. Mauleverer was murdered 

‘‘ I thought you knew all about that. Daisy Stanclifie 
gave him the poison instead of his powder that night.” 

By a look Harding warned me to keep calm. “ Do I 
understand,” he pursued, that, in your opinion. Miss 
Stancliffe — for so, I think, we may still call her — ad- 
ministered the poison knowingly?” 

‘‘Why, put it to your own sense, sir. Somebody 
gave the old gentleman his dose that night. It was not 
done by Branksome, or by Flinter, or by Fosdyke, nor 
by Mr. Fenton here. Who did it? Hot any of the 
English servants at Great Lorton. There’s none of 

o 

them in the secret, I am sure. Don’t you see that it 
must have been done by the girl wlio had been brought 
up for that very purpose — ever since she was a baby?” 

“No !” I cried, regardless of Harding’s appealing 


230 


MAULEVEEEE’s MILLION'S. 


glance, “I do not see it. God only knows how the 
thing was done, but if Miss Stancliffe was the accom- 
plice of these villains, she was an unconscious and an 
innocent one.’’ 

‘‘Then will you tell me how the thing was done? 
Why, you know yourself that neitlier Branksome nor 
Flinter had been near the hall for weeks before the old 
man died ; and they were a thousand miles away when 
the dose was given.” 

I put my hands to my forehead wearily. 

“ Ah, if I could only tell you how it was done f I 
have thought, and thought, and thought over everything 
till my brain has grown giddy. There is only one 
theory that has even a chance in its favoi*, and of that, 
alas! if it be the true one, we can never obtain the 
proof.” 

“And what may that theory be?” asked Gregson, 
with an air of interest. ^ 

I hesitated as to whether to reveal my idea to him. 
It was one which had occurred to me more than once 
during the long sleepless watches of the night ; but I 
had said nothing of it to any one, chiefly, I think, be- 
cause it was but, and in the nature of things never could 
be anything more than, a theory. Unless a miracle were 
to happen, no proof of it, short of the confession of the 
criminals, could ever be adduced. Still, it might be well 
to hear Gregson’s opinion of it. 

“May it not have been possible,” I said, “ for a powder 
containing strychnia to have been secretly substituted 
by Flinter for one containing Mr. Mauleverer’s proper 
medicine ? In that case Flinter might be able to prove 
an alihi^ although he was really the culprit ; and Miss 


mauleverer’s millions. 


231 


Sfc^ncliffe may have given the poison to Mr. Mauleverer, 
although perfectly innocent of any knowledge of its 
nature.” 

I heard a low chuckle and looked up. Bielski had 
entered tlie room whilst I was speaking, and had heard 
my theory. 

“ I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I knocked twice, 
but I could not make you hear me. You’ll excuse me, 
Mr. Fenton, but I should like to tell you that you have 
got on the right track at last. As soon as Mr. Harding 
told me the facts, I saw the trick had been done in that 
way. But lor ! What a pity Mr. Belmore didn’t bring 
it out before the jury !” 

I hinted at it to him,” I replied, but he seemed to 
think it would only damage our case, as no proof could 
be tendered in support of it.” 

‘‘ True, that is the weak .point ; but you know, sir, I 
suppose, that murder has been done that way before ? 
Aye, and an innocent man guillotined for the crime of 
which he knew nothing. I think, after all, Mr. Bel- 
more was right not to suggest this whilst the mystery 
of the strychnia that the young lady had bought was 
unexplained. It would have been too far-fetched then. 
But things are different now, and the Home Secretary 
will liave to think whether, after all, the evidence will 
justify him in refusing a reprieve. For my part, Mr. 
Fenton, I’ll put my money on a respite.” 

Bielski looked round at Gregson, and evidently judged 
from the state of that gentleman’s features that the screw 
had been applied to him not ineffectually. 

“ Got all you want out of this young gentleman ?” 
he asked. ‘‘Enough for the present, eh? Well then. 


232 


mauleverer’s millions. 


my good fellow, take your hook into the next room, and 
wait there till I come to you. Don’t trouble yourself 
about the door. It is locked, and I have the key in my 
own pocket.” 

The detective winked knowingly at the unlucky 
Gregson, and in this unceremonious manner dismissed 
him from our presence. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

THE SECRET OF THE CIPHER. 

% 

“ Gentlemen,” said Bielski, when we were alone, “ I 
think I have something to say that will surprise you.” 
He held in his hand the little memorandum-book, the 
mysterious contents of which he had been studying 
whilst we had been engaged with Gregson. 

“ Have you discovered the cipher ? Does it betray 
anything of the fellow’s secrets I asked with eager- 
ness. 

Yes, sir ; I have found the clue to the cipher. Do 
you know what it is? It is an old-fashioned system of 
short-hand, with some new abbreviations and arbitrary 
signs. You see I had to learn short-hand for my own 
purposes, so I know all about it.” 

“ And do you mean to say you know this system ?” 

“ Oh dear no ! We are going a little too fast, if you’ll 
excuse me, sir. It may take weeks to unriddle this ; for 
at the best of times it is not always easy to decipher 
short-hand. All the same, I hope we may pick the lock 


mauleverer’s millions. 


23 : 


in a shorter time than that. I have a friend in London 
wha will help me.” 

“ And is this the surprising news you have to tell us, 
Bielski ?” interjected Harding. 

^‘Ho, sir, no. It is something more than that. You 
gave me this book as Flinter’s. But I find it is not his 
at all. It is written by ‘Francis Branksome, M.D.’ 
Here’s his name upon the first page.” He pointed to 
some hieroglyphics that to Harding and myself were 
quite unintelligible. 

“ And have you read that already ?” 

“ Yes, that is quite easy to understand. It is written 
in a system that I know something of myself. What 
makes me most suspicious about this book is that the 
cipher has been altered in many ways, as the writer has 
gone on with his entries. It is tolerably clear and 
simple at first, but it becomes more difiicult and com- 
plicated as we proceed. That shows that the man was 
determined to hide from everybody what he was writ- 
ing. Why should Dr. Branksome be so anxious to do 
that?” 

“We have heard something about Dr. Branksome this 
morning which may perhaps throw light upon that ques- 
tion,” said Harding. 

“ From the young man outside there ?” 

“ Yes ;” and then I related to the detective the strange 
story which had been told by Gregson. 

“By Jove! gentlemen,” he cried, slapping his thigh 
in his exultation, “ this is really magnificent. What 
a case I’ll have when I get that in hand ! It’ll mean a 
trip to Australia for me, though ; and I don’t care so 
much about that.” 


2B4 


mauleverer’s millions. 


‘‘But what light will it throw on Miss Stancliffe’s 
case ? How will it assist her 

“ How will it assist her ? I should saj nothing could 
assist her more. It is the very evidence we have been 
wanting to weaken the motive for the murder. You 
must hand this young man over to me now, gentlemen. 
I must get that story of his down in ship-shape.” 

Bielski was quite excited over the prospect of the task, 
which he had apparently already allotted to himself, of 
unravelling the whole mystery of which Gregson pro- 
fessed to have given us the outlines. For my part, I 
cared little or nothing about that mystery in itself. All 
that I wanted was evidence which would deliver my 
darling, not only from a shameful death, but from that 
stain of criminality which the verdict of the jury had 
cast upon her. We had gone far, I felt, towards arriv- 
ing at the truth ; but nothing short of the complete ex- 
oneration of Daisy would satisfy me, and that, alas ! was 
apparently still remote. 

When the detective had taken Gregson off to his own 
hotel to cross-examine him at his leisure regarding the 
story he had told us, Harding and I sat together discuss- 
ing all that had now come to light. Our chief feeling— 
or mine at any rate — was one of wonder at the fact that 
Dr. Branksome should be such a villain as Gregson rep- 
resented. 

Never, surely, was there a man in this world who 
looked less like a villain, who bore himself less like one, 
who seemed to all around him to be more completely 
above suspicion. I recalled all my dealings with him 
from that first day when we met in the Grand Hotel 
at Scarborough, and I could not remember a single in- 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


235 


cident, a look or a tone of the voice, that had been 
calculated to awaken suspicion in my mind. He was 
always the same — cool, self-possessed, gentlemanly, frank 
in manner, brilliant in talk. He had never played the 
part of Joseph Surface and assumed the functions of a 
champion of morality ; but I remembered no one whom 
I had met in the course of my life who had made a 
deeper impression upon me, or who had more completely 
won my confidence and regard. Even now I could 
hardly bring myself to believe that he was a villain — 
much less a villain of the cold, cruel, calculating type 
depicted by Gregson. 

I remembered, however, that my first quarrel with 
him had arisen when he dropped to me a hint of his 
belief that Daisy was guilty. It was only then that, in 
my overpowering love for her, I had broken through 
■ the glamour which had hitherto invested him. I believe 
that even now, when I had heard Gregson’s story, I 
should have rejected it with my whole heart if it had not 
been for Branksome’s desertion of Daisy. That ofience I 
had never forgiven ; and the fact that he had been guilty 
of it enabled me at this moment, despite all my experi- 
ence in my personal relations with him, to accept the 
apparently incredible story of his crime which I had 
received from the lips of Gregson. I saw too, quite 
clearly, the strong confirmation of that story which was 
to be found in the fact that he had acted just as Greg- 
son had predicted that he would act. In the event of 
the sentence of the law being carried out upon Daisy, 
he would step into undisputed possession of Mauleverer’s 
millions. Yes : I felt convinced, in spite of all my pre- 
possessions, that I had indeed been, as Gregson had 


236 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


declared, the veriest dupe throughout this business — but 
the dupe of a man whose villainy was such as to defy 
all ordinary sagacity. 

Bielski, with his usual rapidity of movement, darted 
off that very night to London, haling the unfortunate 
Gregson along with him. It was on the following 
morning that I had my second interview with my 
darling. 

I found her more altered than I had anticipated. 
The strain upon her mind had evidently been terrible 
during that week which she had passed in the grim 
solitude of the condemned cell, with nothing but a 
shameful death staring her in the face. How my heart 
overflowed with love and sympathy, when I saw her, 
pale and worn, standing upright in the gloomy cell, 
awaiting me with a pathetic smile upon her white lips! 
It was long, long before I could murmur even the first 
words of greeting. 

And even then, when I had found my voice, and 
when I had answered some of the many questions she 
addressed to me, I labored under serious embarrass- 
ment. I dared not tell her how I had been engaged 
during those days which had passed since we met before. 
I had written to her immediately upon m}^ return from 
the hall to let her know that the strychnia had been dis- 
covered, but I did not venture to speak of those other 
discoveries for which we were indebted to Gregson. 
And yet I could not leave her without some ray of hope 
to lighten her miserable cell. I am afraid that, ere I 
quitted her side, I had imparted to her a share of the 
agitation by which I myself was possessed. And yet I 
could not be sorry, when that brief interview of mingled 


MAULEVERER^S MILLIONS. 


237 


bliss and agony came to an end, to think that her dear 
face no longer wore that sad look of pathetic apathy and 
resignation which had distinguished it when we met. 

It was on my return to the hotel that I found a tele- 
gram from Bielski. ‘‘ Cijpher discovered. Most im- 
portant.'^^ The detective evidently did not waste words 
in telegraphing. I was consumed with eagerness to 
learn what the important news might be to which we 
had now got the key. 

A gentleman to see you, sir.” It was the evening 
of this same day, and I was sitting by myself in my 
room. The waiter held the door open, and Dr. Brank- 
some, who must have adopted some special means thus 
to ensure his admission to my apartment, entered. 

“ Dr. Branksome !” I said, in astonishment. “You 
here !” 

lie smiled with the grave air that I knew so well, 
and, removing his glove, offered his hand to me. What 
was the magnetic influence which the man exercised 
over all who came in contact with him ? I cannot tell. 
I only know that, whilst I cursed myself for my weak- 
ness, I did not refuse his outstretched hand. 

He seated himself with great composure, and said : 

“I must apologize for an untimely intrusion, but I 
think you will foi’give me when you know the purpose 
of my visit. You have seen Daisy, I understand, to- 
day. I have not had that privilege myself. I want 
you to tell me how the poor child is.” 

Daisy’s name acted as a spell to save me from the 
strange influence of the man. 

“ Yes,” I replied, “ I have seen Daisy, Dr. Brank- 
some, but I can say nothing to you about her.” 


238 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


He arched his eyebrows in mute surprise. “I think 
you carry your resentment too far. I admire it ; but it 
is unjust.” 

‘‘Hypocrite!” I cried, my impetuous temper once 
more breaking down all self-erected barriers of prudence. 

Hypocrite and liar, 1 know 3^11 now. Why do you 
come to me with your smiling face, and your simulated 
tenderness for the girl whom you have made your victim, 
— the girl whose very life you have been readj' to sacri- 
fice to your devilish plans ? Go to somebod)^ else, and 
smile, and smile, and play the villain with them. Don’t 
come to me. I tell you, I know you.” 

“Mr. Fenton,” he said, rising to his feet, “if grief 
has distempered your imagination, you ought at least to 
be able to put some check upon 3^0111’ tongue when you 
receive a gentleman who has come to you in a spirit of 
the purest friendship.” 

I laughed bitterly. “Friendship, purity!” I cried. 
“ Don’t I tell 3mu, sir, that I have found you out — that 
I know now for what purpose this sweet girl whom you 
have made your unconscious tool, and whom 3^ou liave 
now abandoned to a shameless death, was adopted by 
yon, given a name to which she had no right, and 
palmed off upon a man with whom she had no relation- 
ship ? I know it all, sir, and the meaning and end of it 
all. Everything has been done on a grand scale, I con- 
fess. Nobody thought that the magnificent Di-. Brank- 
some was a vulgar scoundrel, plotting by day and night 
to obtain possession of Mauleverer’s millions!” 

“ Ah ! I see it all !” he replied, in tones in which there 
was veiled irony, that I found it very hard to bear. “ I 
thought that it was grief for Daisy that had turned your 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


239 


brain. I see now that you have been listening to the 
slanders of a convicted thief, a discharged servant, a 
would-be assassin, and that, influenced by his malignant 
fables, you are inclined to mourn rather Mr. Maulev- 
erer’s money than the fate of his niece. If that be so, 
Mr. Fenton, I must wish you good-evening. I can 
bear a great deal for Daisy’s sake, but I decline to keep 
any terms with a man who really believes such slanders 
as those which Gregson has imparted to you.” 

He turned to go. A sudden thought struck me. I 
went forward and laid my hand upon his arm. 

Dr. Branksome,” I said, trying to keep down the 
surging emotion which seemed to stifle my utterance, 

I may have wronged you. I don’t know. All I know 
is that ^’'ou are a wonderful man, and that, in spite of 
the hideous crimes of which I cannot help feeling that 
you are guilty, I am drawn towards you in a way that 
I cannot explain, even to myself. Will you hear me 
when I cry to you for mercy for Daisy ? See, I will 
grovel at your feet, if you will but promise to save her ! 
Take all the accursed money that Mauleverer possessed, 
do with it what you will, but save her ! As you hope 
for eternal happiness hereafter, as you dread the punish- 
ment which sooner or later falls upon every wrong-doer, 
be merciful, and let the poor child escape from the net 
that has been woven around her.” 

As I live, when I looked up into that handsome face, 
I saw tears in the man’s eyes. My own were dim 
enough ; but they were not mistaken in what they told 
me they saw. He grasped my hand with the warmth 
and firmness of a brother’s greeting, and for once his 
measured tones were broken as he answered me. 


240 


maulevekee’s millions. 


“ Fenton, you are an honest man ! Forgive me if I 
used rough language just now. On my part I forgive 
you all your suspicions of me. You shall hear from me 
again, and perhaps then you will not think so hardly of 
me as you do at present.” 

His hand was on the door when he turned and said : 
‘‘ I think my memory is failing. I had clean forgotten 
one of the objects of my coming to see you. It was to 
ask whether, on the occasion of ^mur visit to Great Lor- 
ton, you by any chance took away with you a small 
pocket-book belonging to me — a little diary in which I 
make memoranda, iu short-hand, of things which hap- 
pen to interest me, but which are of no importance to 
anybody else.” 

If he had put this question to me two minutes before, 
I should openly have exulted over him. As it was, so great 
was the power which this extraordinary man was able to 
wield over those around him, that I answered him now 
in a manner that might almost have led a by-stander to 
imagine that I regretted the fact which I had to com- 
municate to him. 

‘‘Yes,” I said gravely. “I took possession of the 
book you mention. I did not know that it was yours; 
I imagined that it belonged to Flinter. It is not in my 
possession now. Bielski, the detective whom I em- 
ployed to discover Gregson, took it to London with him 
yesterday, and I received this message from him to- 
day.” 

I handed to Branksome the telegram which announced 
that the secret of the cipher had been discovered. lie 
glanced at it, and as he did so I fancied that a slight 
pallor passed over bis face. But he returned the paper 


mauleveeer’s millions. 


241 


to me with a steady hand, and it was in a voice which 
showed no traces even of the emotion he had displayed 
when he responded to my appeal on behalf of Daisy 
that he said : 

It is curious that they should think they have dis- 
covered my cipher. The very fact that they talk of the 
contents of the book as important, tells me that they are 
utterly wrong. But I must not detain you longer, Mr. 
Fenton. I promise you that you shall hear from me 
within the next twenty-four hours.” 

In another moment he had silently quitted the room. 

The ‘‘newspaper train,” as it is called, reaches York 
from London shortly before ten in the morning. It 
brought with it Bielski, who had telegraphed to apprise 
me of his coming, and whom I accordingly awaited on 
the platform. The detective looked somewhat haggard 
and excited when he greeted me. 

“ Mr. Harding here ?” he said. “ I am glad of it. I 
want you* both. I have something very important to 
lay before you.” 

We hurried to my room, where Harding awaited us. 
Breakfast was on the table ; but Bielski seemed little 
disposed to eat or drink until he had made his great 
communication to us. The instant the waiter had left 
the room he addressed us. 

“ Gentlemen, it is all right. The young lady is as in- 
nocent as a dove, and in fortj^-eight hours she’ll be as 
free as we are. You were right, Mr. Fenton, in 3^our 
guess at the way it was done ; and now I can prove it.” 

What was it that made the little detective, with his 
shrewd keen face, stop suddenly in the middle of what 
was evidently meant to be a long harangue ? It was 
16 


242 


mauleveeee’s millions. 


simply the sudden springing to his feet of Harding, 
whose hands the next moment held mine, and were vio- 
lently shaking them, whilst with a voice curiously un- 
like his usual one, he gasped out, “ Old fellow — so glad 
— God bless you !” 

And I ? Blit I shall not weary the reader with any 
analysis of my emotions. It was‘a dark December 
morning; ah, how unlike that bright summer weather 
in which Daisy and I had first met and learned to love 
each other! But when these words fell from the de- 
tective’s lips, the summer sun shone out again, and, the 
birds sang in my heart, and the very heavens seemed to 
be opened above me. 

‘‘ I don’t wonder at your being upset, gentlemen. I 
feel a bit queer myself ; but you must really compose 
yourselves, and listen to what I have to tell you. I 
never had such a story to tell before. Lor bless me ! 
I’ll never believe in clever men again. Every one of 
them is alike. They play their game so beautifully that 
you think there can be no catching ’em ; and then, lo 
and behold I you find that all the time they have been 
playing your game too, and in the way that you least of 
all expected.” 

Having delivered himself of this exordium, Bielski 
took from his pocket a small parcel, from which he duly 
extracted the little memorandum-book I had found at 
Great Lor ton Hall. 

“ This book, gentlemen, is neither more nor less than 
the diary of Francis Branksome, Esquire, M.D., for 
nearly the whole of the present year. And in it Dr. 
Branksome has set down, all as plain as a pikestaff, the 
whole history of his own proceedings during that time, 


mauleverer’s millions. 


243 


aiid^of the crimes which he has committed, including the 
murder of Mr. Mauleverer, and the plan bj which the 
suspicion of that murder was to be thrown upon Miss 
Stanclitfe.” 

A cry of horror broke from the lips of Harding. For 
my part, I sat spellbound and silent. 

‘‘ I never saw anything in my life before to compare 
with this, gentlemen,” continued the detective, shaking 
his head emphatically. ‘‘I have seen a many queer 
things in rny time ; but never anything like this. Here’s 
a clever man, an educated man, a man who thinks that 
he can take in everybody around him, and that we are 
all nothing more than chessmen to be moved about by 
him at his pleasure — aye, and a man who does move 
people about just as he j^leases for year after year ; and 
yet this clever man is such a fool that he thinks he can 
put his secrets into writing, and prevent anybody dis- 
covering ’em, simply because he mixes up two systems 
of short-hand, and makes one of his own out of ’em, in 
which to keep his diary.” Bielski looked round as 
though to ask our opinion on the subject. 

“I remember,” said Harding, “a case of a murderer 
in Paris who was convicted through a diary in which he 
left a record of all his crimes.” 

‘‘ Do you indeed, sir ? Well, all I can say is that it is 
the first time I’ve come across such a case. But now, 
gentlemen, I must tell you what the diary says. It took 
me and my mate all day yesterday, and down to three 
o’clock this morning, to translate it ; and we shouldn’t 
have got done with it yet, if it hadn’t been that luckily 
this clever Dr. Branksome had chosen for his cipher two 
systems, both of which my friend happened to know,” 


244 


mauleverer’s millions. 


Thereupon Bielski produced a lai’ge batch of lAiuu- 
script, and began to turn over the pages, most of which 
I saw were covered with his handwriting. 

“ Mj friend deciphered, and I wrote down as he read 
it,’’ he explained to us. I am not going to trouble you 
with the early part of the story, though there is plenty 
that I shall have to deal with afterwards. I’ll keep 
straight to what concerns this case. Here is the first 
extract, after lie has seen you^ Mr. Fenton : ‘ Arrived 
Scarborough 6 a.m. Went ashore at 8, and joined the 
boss and Daisy at Grand Hotel. The old man very 
well ; appears to have got over the attack of bronchitis. 
Looks as if he might live twenty j^ears yet. Had the 
usual business talk with him, and settled everything 
satisfactorily. Ho suspicion of Fosdyke’s game.’ Fos- 
dyke’s game,” said the detective, breaking off suddenly, 
“ was to transfer an immense number of Mauleverer’s 
bonds into portable and transferable securities. The 
rogues were determined, whether the man lived or died, 
to dip their hands into his pockets. ‘ Found to my dis- 
gust that Daisy has made the acquaintance of a young 
man named Fenton. I suspected something from her 
manner of speaking of him. It seems that he protected 
her from that brute Gregson at York railway-station, 
and she repays him by falling in love with him. I made 
an opportunity of observing them both closely. There 
is no doubt that he is fond of her ; and I find that he 
has got an infiuence over her which I must destroy as 
speedily as possible. A commonplace, inoffensive young 
man ; but in my way, and therefore to be got out of it.’ ” 

This extract affoi’ds a fair sample of the perfect frank- 
ness with which Branksome had committed his thoughts 


mauleverer’s millions. 


245 


to paper. There was not the faintest attempt in the 
diary at self-deception. If he told a lie, he said so 
straight out ; if he committed any crime, trivial or great, 
it was described with cynical plainness of speech. If the 
whole of that extraordinary volume were to be pub- 
lished, it would be one of the most interesting psycho- 
logical revelations ever given to the world. 

But it must suffice for my purpose here to give but a 
brief series of extracts from the diary. The entry re- 
ferring to my visit to the hall was as follows : 

Sept. 20. This morning I procured from London 
my- old medicine-chest. Found a good supply of 
strychnia. Ascertained that the boss had got a new box 
of pills from Carrick yesterday. Have been busy ex- 
perimenting all the morning, making up powders in 
imitation of Garrick’s. Fenton came on visit just before 
dinner-hour — more desperately in love than ever. After 
dinner he and Daisy went into the garden together, and 
I set Flinter to watch them. He was the witness of a 
very pretty love-scene — Daisy and her young gentleman 
billing and cooing in the most approved style. When 
I got the boss away from his guest at night, I told him 
the whole story in my own fashion, and let him know 
that I had ascertained quite enough to prove that Fenton 
was a scamp, probably in league with Gregson. I had a 
little difficulty with him at first. He seemed to have 
taken rather a liking to the lad. But when I told him 
that he had been speaking contemptuously of him 
(Mauleverer) to Daisy, and speculating upon the chance 
of his dying soon, and leaving them in possession of his 
wealth, his temper changed, and he became furiously 
angry, and told me that Fenton must be got out of the 


246 


mauleverer’s millions. 


house immediately after breakfast to-morrow morning. 
Flinter, I find, has grave suspicions that Fenton knows 
something, and insists upon his being removed from the 
spot at the moment the grand coujp is struck.” 

Then came other entries describing my departure from 
the hall, and the way in which Branksome succeeded in 
infiaming the mind of the doomed Mauleverer against 
both me and Daisy. Finally came the story of the exe- 
cution of the vile plot itself. 

‘‘ Oct. 7. Daisy was sent off to Little Lor ton with 
strict orders to procure enough strychnia to poison all 
the rats in the hall. Brought back a big parcel of the 
stuff, and seemed quite frightened at having it in her 
possession. Am keeping up the estrangement between 
her and the boss. Went into the latter’s room to-night 
after he had gone to bed, and suggested that he did not 
look well. Proposed he should have one of his powders. 
He assented to this, and I duly administered it to him. 
On taking the powder from the box in the dressing- 
room, I slipped in my own powder of strychnia. I saw 
that the powders were taken in regular order, so placed 
mine near the bottom of the box. It will come due, I 
calculate, in a fortnight. 

‘‘ Oct. 8. Left hall this morning for Scarborough and 
the yacht. Fosdyke went with me, having evaded the 
old man’s request that he would complete his new will 
at once. Query : That will is not very likely to be 
executed now, is it ? Took an affectionate leave of the 
old gentleman, and felt really sorry to think I should see 
him no more. On getting to Scarborough, found it was 
a stormy day. Flinter had carried out my orders about 


Mauleverer^s millions. 


247 


Fenton, and the latter was safe on board in the yacht’s 
‘ kitty.’ ” 

Tills particular book ended at this point. There were 
no further entries after that relating to iny abduction. 

“ Now, gentlemen, you see it all,” said Bielski, when 
he had finished the reading. “We have to do with the 
greatest scoundrel the Lord ever sent upon this earth. 
But we have got him tight.” He pulled out his watch. 
“ By this time, Mr. Fenton, our friend Dr. Francis 
Branksome ought to be safe in the hands of the Scotland 
Yard detective whom I brought down from London, but 
whom I did not think it absolutely necessary to intro- 
duce to you in the station two hours ago.” 

“You have got a warrant against him?” 

“ Of course we have. When we had found as much 
as was necessary out of this book, I rushed off to Scot- 
land Yard, and left that part of the business in their 
hands. It will be all right provided Branksome has not 
got a hint.” 

“ I am afraid he has got a hint,” I said, feeling more 
than a little guilty. 

“Eh, what do you say, Mr. Fenton?” cried the detec- 
tive, wheeling round upon me and eying me sharply. 

I told him the whole story of Branksome’s visit to me, 
and of how he had even seen the telegram which Bielski 
himself had dispatched. Bitterly did 1 now upbraid 
myself for my folljL I saw how the villain, by that 
momentary assumption of emotion, had once more over- 
matched me, and had won from me the secret he came 
to learn. 

The detective wasted no time in any reproaches. He 


248 


mauleveker’s millions. 


snatched up his hat and rushed from the room. When 
he was gone, Harding and I discussed the possible re- 
sults of Branksome’s escape. Anxious as we were that 
he should be brought to justice, our chief thought was 
for Dais}^: and we cared little what became of the 
villain now that her life and honor were secure. 

In little more than half an hour poor Bielski returned, 
with chagrin written in unmistakable cliaracters upon 
his face. 

“ Just what I expected,” he cried ; ‘‘ the rogue has 
been too sharp for us, after all ; but, thank God, he has 
not gone until the young lady has been as good as 
cleared.” 

He threw a telegram upon the table. It was from 
the Chief Constable at Scarborough, in answer to one 
from Bielski, announcing that the Golden Hawk had 
sailed that morning, destination unknown, carrying with 
her Dr. Branksome and Benjamin Flinter. 


CHAPTEK XYII. 

DR. BRANKSOMe’s LAST. 

Early on the day following that on which Bielski 
had informed us of his extraordinary discovery, my good 
friend Harding found himself at Whitehall, in the room 
of the Permanent Under Secretary of the Home Depart- 
ment. Belmore was with him, and they had already 
drawn up a brief statement of the facts which had been 
discovered with regard to the murder of Mr. Mauleverer, 


mauleverer’s millions. 


249 


and the actual position of Daisy. One by one Mr. 
Belmore placed these facts before the great official, and 
showed, not merely how the strong evidence which had 
been brought against my darling at the trial had been 
neutralized by subsequent discoveries, but how there was 
now positive testimony — testimony of an extraordinary 
kind indeed, but still testimony which was conclusive — 
with regard to the actual criminal and his real accom-1 
plices, for whose arrest warrants had been issued. 

The Under Secretary listened with patience and atten- 
tion, and then, armed with the documents which they 
handed to him, he went to the apartment of the Secre- 
tary of State. A few minutes later they stood in the 
presence of the minister himself. 

I have been deeply interested in this case, Mr. Bel- 
more, and very much troubled by it. It was so difficult 
to believe that a young girl could have been guilty of a 
crime of this sort. And yet the evidence was appar- 
ently complete, and unfortunately I have too much 
reason to know that we can never trust absolutely to 
antecedent improbabilities in cases of this kind.” 

“ But now, sir, I think you will admit that the evi- 
dence is clear so far as it goes, and that it establishes 
the innocence of this young lady.” 

“I must seethe judge first in the matter,” replied 
the Minister, cautiously. 

‘‘And may I venture to ask,” interposed Harding, 
“ that you will act as soon as you possibly can, sir ? I 
need not point out to you the cruel position of this 
young lady at the present moment, or of those to whom 
she is dear.” 

“ My dear sir, I shall act at once ; in such a case delay 


250 


matjleverer's millions. 


would be inexcusable. But you must forgive me if I 
withhold my own opinion until I have ascertained that 
of the judge.” 

Half an hour later I received the telegram for which 
I was waiting with breathless impatience at York. 
Alas ! it did not announce, as I had hoped might be the 
case, the immediate discharge of my darling. Patience ! 
patience ! 

But at nightfall the glad news came. Secretary of 
State will advise Queen to grant free pardon. Formali- 
ties can be completed to-morrow.” 

And the next day I was at the Castle by daybreak, 
waiting to be admitted to the Governor’s room. I was 
too soon, of course. Even when officialism acts with 
unwonted speed, it cannot outstrip the impatience of a 
lover. It was now the 18th of December. In a week 
longer Christmas would be with us. Twelve days had 
elapsed since I had heard the shameful doom pronounced 
upon my beautiful darling — the woman whom I had 
chosen out of all the world as worthiest and best, aye, 
and who had chosen me, all unworthy as I was, to keep 
that tender heart of hers — the purest and the truest that 
ever beat in a human bosom. 

Only twelve days since that awful scene when Daisy 
and I had seemed to stand together within the very jaws 
of death ! I could not believe it. Half of my entire 
life appeared to have been expended in the varied emo- 
tions through which I had passed since then. The offi- 
cials of the prison w^ere long, long in coming. I walked 
to and fro impatiently. I declare this waiting now was 
harder even than had been that waiting for the verdict, 
when my darling’s fate hung in the balance. I recalled 


MAULEVEBEr’s MILLiOKg. 


251 


all the history of those eventful four months which had 
passed since I first saw her in her peerless beauty, and the 
full fiush of health and strength, in the railway-station 
of this very city ; and whilst I rejoiced more than ever 
at the blessing which had been bestowed upon me in her 
love, my heart cried out to Heaven for pardon for all 
those errors which in my recklessness and blindness I 
had committed, and from which she had suffered. Ah, 
if it could but have come over again, how differently I 
should have acted, and with what loving care I should 
have shielded her even against that infernal network of 
lies which had been \voven so cunningly about her ! So 
I thought, as I looked back upon it all ; and so, possibly, 
it might have been if that strange drama could have 
been re-enacted. But who can tell ? Even now, when 
I fully recognize the blunders of which I was guilty, 
the folly, the blindness, the stubbornness I displayed in 
my dealings with Mauleverer and his friends, I some- 
times ask myself whether my blunders may not have 
been more useful than my prudence would have been. 

But what is that sound ? The door opens, and I turn 
to greet the Governor with the longed-for news. Ho ; 
the Governor is not there. It is my darling herself who 
stands before me, pale as a statue of marble, worn and 
wasted by the strain of an agony which might have 
brought even a strong man to the grave, but with all 
the light of life and love shining upon me from her 
star-like eyes. 

We were at Scarborough two days later, staying once 
more in the Grand Hotel. The great house was practi- 
cally empty now, and Daisy and Mrs. Cawthorne might 


252 


mauleveber’s millions. 


if they pleased have had their choice of any of the rooms 
in the building. I had induced Harding to come with 
us to the place where I had first met him. It was not 
merely that I needed to consult him on a hundred mat- 
ters that concerned the interests both of Daisy and my- 
self. In that fierce ordeal through which my darling 
and I had passed I had learned to love this true and 
tried friend as I had loved few men before. 

It was on this second day of our stay in the hotel that 
I received the following letter from the arch-villain who 
had so nearly by his crimes marred the lives of both 
Daisy and myself. The letter had been posted at Scar- 
borough on the very day on which the Golden Hawk 
sailed for its unknown port. But, strange to say, it had 
been directed to me, not at York, where the doctor knew 
that I was staying, but at Great Lorton Hall ; from 
which place it had reached me, after some delay, at 
Scarborough. 


“Golden Hawk, off Scarborough, Dec. 16. 

Dear Mr. Fenton : I promised to let you hear 
from me within twenty-four hours, and I mean to prove 
myself a man of my word. I said that when you did 
hear of me again I should probably cause you to think 
less hardly of me, and I still trust that it may be so. 

“ You are a young man who is not wholly lacking in 
discrimination, though in your impulsiveness you make 
some very great mistakes. You are probably now curs- 
ing what you may regard as the blunder you made last 
night when you revealed to me the telegram from that 
detective with the foreign name on the subject of my 
diary. Pray console yourself. Even from your — and 


mauleverek’s millions. 


253 


Daisy’s — point of view, you did not blunder there, as I 
shall soon prove to you. 

“ Every man, great or small, has some weakness. Mine 
has been a very simple one. I have had no confederate all 
through my life ; even Flinter, and one or two more in 
Australia who have been permitted to understand some- 
thing of my schemes, have never really been in my con- 
fidence. I am a sociable being, as you know. I could 
confide in nobody else ; I made a confidant of myself. 
Don’t suppose that I did not know there was a risk in 
doing it, even with the cipher I had adopted. I was 
well aware of that fact. But there must be an element 
of risk in all things human, and the chances were cer- 
tainly a thousand to one against any harm happening to 
me through the indulgence of this little foible. Now 
of course all your petty moralists, from your detective 
upwards, will preach their little sermon about the blind- 
ness with which Providence afflicts all criminals, and 
will prove entirely to their own satisfaction that, if I 
am a great villain, I am a still greater fool. I deny it. 
I am no fool ; and even after the lesson I have now had, 
I should not hesitate once more to repeat — of course 
under different conditions — the indiscretion which has 
cost me so dear now. 

‘‘ My dear sir, let me remove any difficulty that may 
now lie in your way. If I had not heard from you of 
the discovery of my cipher, and if, instead of writing 
this letter comfortably to you on board our beautiful 
yacht, I had been in jail just now on the charge of mur- 
der, I should have been compelled in self-defence to put 
you and all your friends to an amount of trouble that 
I think would have far outweighed the object you were 


254 


mauleveker’s millions. 


seeking to attain. Moreover, I should in all probability 
have baffled the whole of you. But your appeal to me 
last night, coupled with the fact that I shall certainly not 
now be permitted to gather the fruit for which I have 
waited so long, has caused me to come to a conclusion 
of which I think you ought to hear with gratitude. I 
do not mean to fight. I am leaving you forever ; but I 
shall do what I can in departing to smooth your way, 
and to leave you and Daisy to think not unkindly of me. 

I acknowledge, therefore, in the most formal man- 
ner, that the story set forth in my diary is literally true. 
I murdered Mr. Mauleverer in the manner therein de- 
scribed — by substituting a powder of strychnia for one of 
bromide of potassium. I had no accomplice in my crime 
save Benjamin Flinter. Daisy is absolutely innocent ; 
and, though Fosdyke may have had his suspicions, he 
knew nothing. Fosdyke, my dear Mr. Fenton, is a very 
commonplace sort of rogue. I shall do nothing so ab- 
surd as to attempt to justify or palliate my conduct to 
you. I have my own justification, and I assure you it 
is altogether satisfactory to myself. My digestion is ex- 
cellent'; I sleep perfectly ; and I know no more of a 
reproaching conscience than of a disordered stomach. 

There is one point on which, by the way, I should 
not like either you or Daisy to lie under any misappre- 
hension, Though it was necessary, in case of need, to 
place Daisy under suspicion of being the real murderer 
of Mr. Mauleverer, there was not the slightest intention 
of putting her life in jeopardy. That was your doing, 
my dear Mr. Fenton ; and you remember the hot indig- 
nation which Flinter — who always had a sneaking kind- 
ness for the dear girl — showed when he heard of what 


mauleverer’s millions. 


255 


I must say was your inexcusable rashness at Trondhjem. 

TF^ wanted to create evidence against her, not that we 
might fling her into the dock to take her chance before 
a jury, but in order that we might have some means of 
counteracting the influence which unfortunately you 
seemed to have obtained over her, and of keeping both 
her and you in our power. But then, ‘ the best-laid 
schemes,’ etc. I am no mouse, however, even though on 
this occasion my plans have ‘ gone agley.’ 

“ Daisy is the daughter of a gentleman, a man of birth, 
refinement, and education, a clergyman of the Church 
of England, who died at Melbourne in 18 — . I know 
nothing of her family history, save that her name is 
Sheldon ; but you may depend upon it that she is, in 
every sense of the word, a lady. 

‘‘ And now, nothing remains but that I should say, 
‘ Bless you, my children,’ and let the curtain be rung 
down upon the play ! You will have Mauleverer’s Mil- 
lions upon which to enjoy yourselves — minus the com- 
paratively trivial sum which my necessities have com- 
pelled me to appropriate ; you will have youth,' beauty, 
good conscience, etc., etc. Beally, my dear Fenton, I 
envy you. Pray, when you are happy, bear in mind 
the fact that you owe your wife to me. 

“And now, farewell ! This is the last time you will 
ever hear of your sincere but '^unrepentant 

“ Francis Branksome.” 

This extraordinary letter, which left the man’s charac- 
ter almost as much of an enigma to me as it had ever 
been, did something to clear away any remaining mys- 
tery connected with the tragedy ; and it confirmed my 


266 


matjleveree’s millions. 


darling in the intention which she had formed that 
under no circumstances would she touch the money of 
the man who had taken her as his child, and loved and 
benefited her, under the infinence of the fraudulent de- 
lusion impressed upon him by Branksome. Legally, she 
was full mistress of all Mauleverer’s wealth — the amount 
of which we soon found had been greatly exaggerated. 
She made use of her powers over it to transfer the whole 
sum to trustees for the execution of the purposes which 
Mauleverer had named in the will he never signed. 

And so, though I married the heiress of the mil- 
lionaire, I got a penniless bride. But, strange to say, I 
have never regretted that fact ; nor, I verily believe, 
would Daisy herself exchange her present lot for that 
which she enjoyed when men crowded round her eager 
to pay court to her as the inheritor of the rich man’s 
wealth. The brightness of our honeymoon, which came 
very soon after those tragic days of which I have writ- 
ten in these pages, has never quite died out. Nay, it 
renews itself from year to year; and we are fain to 
acknowledge that we are the happier now because of the 
sorrows through which we have passed together. 

Mr. Fosdyke, the clever attorney, had been too clever, 
for once. He knew nothing of the plot to murder 
Mauleverer — of that the authorities were fully satisfied ; 
but he had forgotten certain elementary rules of his own 
profession in his dealings with the rich man’s property, 
and so one day he was struck off the rolls, and consigned 
for the remainder of his life to poverty and ignominy. 

What became of Dr. Branksome and his accomplice, 
Flinter, is a secret which time has never revealed. The 
last word that ever reached me from them was the letter 


mauleverer’s millions. 


257 


which the reader has now before him ; the last that was 
ever seen of them was on that gray December morning 
when the Golden Hawk slipped out of Scarborough 
Bay like a shadow, never more to come within mortal 
ken, Yarions are the rumors that I have heard regard- 
ing this arch-villain whose dupe I was along with so 
many others. Some spoke of him as leading a life of 
sybaritic self-indulgence in an isle of the Hlgean ; others 
described him as being a prominent leader in a revolu- 
tion in the newest of the Central American republics; 
whilst there was one story — to which I myself attached 
more weight than I did to the rest — which spoke of the 
sinking of a large schooner yacht, name unknown, in 
the English Channel, by a homeward-bound P. & O. 
steamer, during a dense fog, some four-and-twenty hours 
after the Golden Hawk left Scarborough. That a 
yacht was lost, with all hands, at that time, and that the 
Golden Hawk has never more been heard of, are facts 
admitted by everybody. But whether it Avas the vessel 
Avhich carried the sin-laden soul of Francis Branksome 
that went down so suddenly in the cold waters of the 
Channel, is one of those mysteries which will never be 
revealed until the sea gives up her dead. 


THE END. 



* \9 - ^ 

^ • V t. • 

*f 'v- , 


V 


I 

T . 


» — _ 

*■ A -/ 

* V. V 

• _ ^ ft 


• ^ ^ . . '^ A^ ' ^ , ♦ - ’. ^ ' 


, ^*-;V* • -.^v-V-V - 

■ ' • ' .«•' . / • *V V* - I ^ 

- 'vv^• •. ^ ’v , ; . 

•^’- : V* -V . • l Y>. • -/>:% * 

0 ^ ^ » ft * A ^ ^ 

‘-* • T* » 1 * ' • I ^ .A 


».• i/ 
. .* .1 


^ ’ s 


. I 


;*.• 


t V 


•< 

<• • 






V • 

i" 




:j’r:''«i -■■ 


• » 



1 


•> 

ft 


m ^ 

. i~’-‘ 


i 




S « 


<V 


f ^ 


.r « 

• *:> / • ♦ . ^ 

••• * , 
.4* - • 


^ J 


f< 
• ^ 




<% • 


> • 

A' 


•'*: 


•'V - 


•A. " ' 


V. 


: m ' 




-S 


.*w, 




^ •• 

-<.• '*■ ' 


% 


- . .1- • V 

> ; -- - - '* ;- ^ '-‘r ?^‘ ' 

ft • • ^ w 

^ . 4 V ^ 


4 


■X'*'-ft'-’' . - '' ' ^•■' •'**■ -'■'^ ' 

; 5 ''- 

• v;;' * ’* ’■■ -■■■ 


» ♦ 


■ V .' •? - 


♦ 

s> 


• • . 


r • ^ 


#> V 


*».* •<.. 


^ , 




I 4* ' ; 

t ... 


✓w> ■ J* • • ^{'C 


I 4 


•< . 

> • •W . * ^ ^ ^ ' 

^kr.'r« • • • ■ • . . «: ’ 

^ V -. • - -v". - 


\ .' 


^ 

’ - # y V "*' * 

-f 'T * » - f^L ^ ' 


♦ * .-<*r. 


' 


»• -1 




« A 


f ^S*- 


• . 


•> 
I • • 


•^^k£v'rl: *• • '••'* • .- • 

:'-^ ft;,,v„ : ' ;. ' '* f /:*- 

— ^ ^ > T &.* ^ •. I • • : ^ - - •▼ . » w 1 




-ft . 
-^ft” 


-I 




4 


S ^ ' ■ 

ly ;•• ^ ’ 

# * 


» 


t V 


;. t. ft* -1 • 


•ft> 


• ♦ • 

r " I 


■'• ^} • 


■' r-% - 


« \ 4 

A. 

a 


• /.# 
V 


• V 






.'v-^ 


-f - • 


4 

< 


/ . 


. ^ ft 




.f 


• > 


: 

« ^ . ft 


« 

► ft 




/• 




ft. • 




^ - > 
V • 

- ' 1 


• - 




4 ; 

ft 


.ft V . 


✓ • 
V > 


* \ 




’ ‘ s r. 




'^v -- - ■ V'' 

^ 1 ^ r* %- .• i.^* K ^ * 9 * ^ J^ • "♦ •-.•>• •-» 

’^;.;rf.«MV^'-‘:: ^7 • ^ft. ,':-^'--7. V ^ * C:* . .'T*^ .- * 

■•■" - '• ' 'A; •* : ..»V'>..' ' - ^ • ■-¥' ■ ' 

^ >.V-' ■■ -■ • ■ . ,^ 'riA^^v 

» '- t •' ^ T . 7 •^.'^. - .- • -s.»- ••. . ‘ ^ 


'V 


/• . V 


* 7 




•V .'♦/ 


. I A 
/ - • - * 


P I 


s 




■ t-tpi A-, '^-. 





^ - f 

A 


.\y j y - ‘ 


• .v •-"' ' 

:^vr;V- 

-A.',’- 7 


J*'-' 




* \ 


4 .-fc • ^ » J .^K 

.•♦• I 


.. •> *'*:-..• 


4 

t 


^ i. t4 


r» -ft 


*i-- 





s 


• V 

r ^ 


1 < ' • 


: 7 ft 


y-AF % • 

S ' 

I ^ ^ _ 


• \ 


. > 


■-^' . ^ 

fm ^4 

■ V. >V.- ‘ 


Vfr;r-^' ‘; . -2^jr2 

Vl^v^S 

• -s- -V 

W 


^ ft 








• 4 .^%: 




“ m ^ 




. i» 




. V - • 


% 

r* • 

w. 


< J 

€, 




• 




?S* A 




^ 4-i 


-• ✓ 


9 

iJ* 

ft 

S * 


^ •ift 

•T 


r . 


V- ^ •• • I ^•*/. 


ftj 


i * 

* ft. 

’ft# •* ft 



'■.••4' V '.T ’*•''• ;Hg|B|R^;/7» ^ - V' ''• - V '-N*. '-V 

/ a. ^ ,/ Ia,! •^•■-vr-. : . *'-.4i 

L.\ *T‘i^^4«r'^^l3i*' ’ r. ^r«.. ‘ V..1 -u. -■f'. -s . : >' -... . -^'.iS 





BEN-HUR : A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 

By Lew. Wallace. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, Cloth, 

8l 50. 

Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this 
romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr. Wal- 
lace’s writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de- 
scribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
an accomplished master of style. — W. Y. Times. 

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
beginning ef the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we witness a sea- 
fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal- 
aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
families of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident; everything is 
animated, vivid, and glowing. — N. Y. Tribune. 

From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader’s interest 
will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
one of the greatest novels of the day. — Bostoji Post. 

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and there 
is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., to greatly 
strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 

“Ben-Hur” is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is laid, 
and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
Antioch at the time of our Saviour’s advent. — Examiner, N. Y. 

It is really Scripture history of Christ’s time clothed gracefully and 
delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . . Few late 
works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. Graphic. 

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
chapters of history. — Indianapolis Journal. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
and romance. — Boston Journal. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

The above toork sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


J, S. WINTER'S NOyELS. 


MIGNON ; OR, BOOTLES’S BABY. Illustrated. 16mo, 

Paper, 25 cents. 

A charming little story of military life. — N. T. Sun. 

A bright and taking little story, well worth reading. — The Critic, N. Y. 

It is full of bright pictures, and the text is bright and deliciously fun- 
ny. — Commercial Bulletin, Boston. 

It is finely told, with humor and pathos, and excels in quick character 
drawing and style. It moves the better feelings. — Bontou Olobe. 

It is a light story of garrison life, with enough of a mystery to make it 
interesting to the end, and with a touch of pathos which is excellently 
done. — Boston Courier. 

It is just the kind of book to help one to pass a summer afternoon 
pleasantly. The story treats of English regimental life, and relates the 
adventures of a stray baby, unceremoniously presented to one of the 
characters, in a striking and amusing manner.— Boston. Commonwealth. 

This is a pretty little story of barrack life, having for its central figure 
a precocious little sprite, who dances about a manly soldier of the best 
sort. The story is well told. — Providence Telegram, 

HOUP-LA. Illustrated. 16aio, Paper, 25 cents. 

It is a pathetic story and abounds in incident. — N. T. Sun. 

The tale has much of humor, much of pathos, and will occupy an hour 
very pleasantly. — Troy Telegram. 

A story of adventure, exciting situations, strange scenes, odd charac- 
ters, and of absorbing interest. — Albany Press. 

A pretty story, full of human interest. It is nicely told, and holds the 
reader from the beginning to the close. — Philadelphia North American. 

A touching story of a waif rescued from a cruel master by an English 
army officer. — Philadelphia Inquirer. 

. A very amusing and, in its close, pathetic story of humble constancy 
and heroism. — Ziotds Herald, Boston. 

IN QUARTERS WITH THE 25TH (THE BLACK 
HORSE) DRAGOONS. 16mo, Paper, 25 cents. 

Its jollity and fun are exemplified by practical jokes and deliberate 
waggishness, and at the same time there are not wanting bits of pathos 
and genuine heroism. The narrative is unflaggingly interesting and at 
times very dramatic. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

Briskly narrated in a dashing manner, and well fitted to engage an 
idle half-hour. — Boston Herald. 

Well worth reading. . . . Written in a lively and forcible style, and is one 
of the books which it is a pleasure to pick up when one wishes enter- 
taining reading matter for a short time. Besides, being more or less stories 
of adventure, and the same characters occurring in more than one of 
them, the interest continues until the book is finished. — Boston Times. 

A MAN OF HONOR. 16mo, Paper, 25 cents. 


Published by HARPER <fe BROTHERS, New York. 

Haupke & Bp.otuee8 will send any of the above works by mail, postage pre- 
paid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


It surpasses all its predecessors . — N. Y. Tribune. 



A Dictionary of the English Language, Pronouncing, Etymological, 
and Explanatory, Embracing Scientific and Other Terms, Numer- 
ous Familiar Terms, and a Copious Selection of Old English 
Words. By the Rev. James Stormontit. The Pronunciation 
Carefully Revised by the Rev. P. H. Piielp, M.A. pp. 1248. 
4to, Cloth, $6 00 ; Half Roan, $7 00 ; Sheep, $7 50. 

Also in Harper’s Franklin Square Librart, in Twenty- 
three Parts. 4to, Paper, 25 cents each Part. Muslin covers for 
binding supplied by the publishers on receipt of 50 cents. 

As regards thoroughness of etymological research and breadth of modern inclusion, 
Stormonth’s new dictionary surpasses all its predecessors. * * * fact, Stormonth’s 
Dictionary possesses merits so many and conspicuous that it can hardly fail to estab- 
lish itself as a standard and a favorite. — N. Y. Tribune. 

This may serve in great measure the purposes ©f an English cyclopaedia. It gives 
lucid and succinct deflnitions of the technical terms in science and art, in law and 
medicine. We have the explanation of words and phrases that puzzle. most people, 
showing wonderfully comprehensive and out-of-the-way research. We need only add 
that the Dictionary appears in all its departments to have been brought down to meet 
the latest demands of the day, and that it is admirably printed. — Times, London. 

A most valuable addition to the library of the scholar and of the general reader. 
It can have for the present no possible rival. — Boston Post. 

It has the bones and sinews of the grand dictionary of the future. * * * An invalu- 
able library book. — Ecclesiastical Gazette, London. 

A work which is certainly without a rival, all things considered, among the dic- 
tionaries of our language. The peculiarity of the work is that it is equally well adapt- 
ed to the uses of the man of business, who demands compactness and ease of reference, 
and to those of the most exigent scholar. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

As compared with our standard dictionaries, it is better in tj'pe, richer in its vocab- 
ulary, and happier in arrangement. Its system of grouping is admirable. * * * He 
who possesses this dictionary will enjoy and use it, and its bulk is not so great as to 
make use of it a terror. — Christian Advocate, N. Y. 

A well-planned and carefully executed work, which has decided merits of its own, 
and for which there is a place not filled by any of its rivals.— Y. F. Sun. 

A work of sterling value. It has received from all quarters the highest commenda- 
tion. — Lutheran Observer, Philadelphia. 

A trustworthy, truly scholarly dictionary of our English language. — Christian Intel- 
ligencer, N. Y. 

The issue of Stormonth’s great English dictionary is meeting with a hearty wel- 
come everywhere. — Boston Transcript. 

A critical and accurate dictionary, the embodiment of good scholarship and the 
result of modern researches. Compression and clearness are its external evidences, 
and it offers a favorable comparison with the best dictionaries in use, while it holds an 
unrivalled place in bringing forth the result of modern philological criticism. — Boston 
Journal. 

Full, complete, and accurate, including all the latest words, and giving all their 
derivatives and correlatives. The definitions are short, but plain, the method of mak- 
ing i)ronunciation very simple, and the arrangement such as to give the best results 
in the smallest space. — Philadelphia Inquirer. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

flSP* Hakpeb & Brothers tvill send the above rvork by mail., postage prepaid, to any 
part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


EABPEE’S WEEKLY FOR 1886. 


On the 2d of January, 1886, Hakper’s Weekly entered upon the thirtieth year of 
its existence. The series of its volumes justifies its title as “A Journal of Civiliza- 
tion ” by refiecting, with steadily increasing fulness and accuracy, the progress of civ- 
ilization throughout the period which these volumes cover, and by embodying as well 
as by recording the continuous advance of American literature and American art. 

In Politics, Harper’s Weekly will continue to represent the principles of the Re- 
publican party, and of the Republican party organization in so far as that organization 
is the faithful exponent of those principles. Holding aloof from factional entangle- 
ments, it will attempt to give voice to the best and wisest sentiment of the whole 
country. It has borne an efficient part in the work of establishing the Reform of 
the Civil Service on such a basis that the early and complete triumph of the reform is 
no longer doubted, nor by any party openly opposed. 

In Literature, Harper's Weekly for 1886 will be signalized by the publication of 
two important and striking serials. One of these is by Mr. Thomas Hardy, whose 
position among the foremost of living writers of fiction is unchallenged; the other by 
Mr, Walter Besant, one of the most rapidly rising of English novelists. Short stories 
by popular writers will continue to be features of the paper, which will also contain 
from time to time important articles on special subjects by acknowledged authorities. 

In Art, it will be the aim of the publishers of the Weekly to continue, and if possible 
to increase, the rate of progress heretofore maintained in its illustrations. Within the 
past year its pages have contained, in the illustration of such events as the inaugura- 
tion of President Cleveland, the death and national funeral of General Grant, the 
dedication of Niagara Falls to the public, and the series of international yacht races, 
pictures which it is safe to say had not been approached in fidelity or in artistic ex- 
cellence by any work previously done in this country in the department of illustrated 
journalism. With regard to foreign events, the exclusive arrangements of the pub- 
lishers with some of the leading illustrated journals of Europe furnish a guarantee 
that its readers will have the earliest and best representations attainable of all occur- 
rences abroad that are of interest to Americans. 

As a family journal, the care that has been successfully exercised in the past to 
make Harper’s Weekly a safe, as well as a welcome, visitor to ever}^ household will 
not be relaxed in the future. The ultimate infiuence of the subjects treated in its text 
and in its illustrations is not less considered than their immediate public interest. It 
is conducted in the belief that such scenes as would be repulsive or brutalizing to per- 
sons witnessing them cannot form fit subjects for literary or pictorial representation. 


HARPER’S PERIODICALS. 


HARPER’S MAGAZINE Per Year $4 00 

HARPER’S WEEKLY . . . ^ “ 4 00 

HARPER’S BAZAR “ 4 00 

HARPER’S YOUNG PEOPLE “ 2 00 

HARPER’S FRANKLIN SQUARE LIBRARY (52 

Numbers) “ 10 00 

HARPER’S HANDY SERIES (52 Numbers) . . “15 00 


Subscriptions to any of the Periodicals will begin with the Number current at the 
time of receipt of order, except in cases where the subscriber otherwise directs. 

Remittances should be made by Post-Office Money Order or Draft, to avoid risk of 
loss, 


Address, 


HARPER & BROTHERS, Franklin Square, New York. 










I t & 


;k. ‘■a 


*» ■:;r ■• 


.J^-‘ 


.'^ I 


- 4 .^ 


* 1 . ?i 


IK 




M-i 


'0. ■ 






i. 






i^<rv 


A 


MJ) 


4 * 


• n 


Til^i 


» » « 




'A 




^IX 


*|r<i 


:f 




P 4 




«» 






aT • . . ^ 




a: 






'♦ 


»* » 






\> 




s ; . 1 






I *i 


Irt- 


Sr. 


k: 




f'. 


\> 




,* > 


w. ■ >, 


( 


I » 






m * 










^ni 


’■ :''h -■ 

^^.■. !:- i' 

> ■>. 


»nT3 

,« f ► 

3 : ^ 


T . » - *' 


M ^ 9et 


.A* 




'V, 


V V 


.1 !k* 


f' ^ 


S’ 


I 




'f 


■) 'f I.' ^ 

jt ■• 


-*"y# 








V'* ! . / 1 


I” Jl 4 V 


: 




•n 


} 


** 




« 4 




V 1 




1 1 


v! 






iy 


I'^-P’ 


a 




■ T.v 




•^5 


■A/. 


► 1 


.-■'.v 


m 


.Vt 


fc'-;;' 5 v ■:^‘^^■^"‘v 


I' .-• 




4.»V 


1 ^ *♦ 


,^7 


•“ ' 

V ’ fi -* • '• ' 


o; 




tft" 


J. 


,«>l 






** i 




V 






- / 


"’f 




-• K 


ly 


t! 5 


• 4 ' 


‘ ^-\<<; Vij.? 

V S’SjC- • i- 

#;JMb*|, if : 


>':♦ 


’ - %ra 

• 4 *■ 

f ^ ” «^»»' I 




'i 


M 


•i* 




t. r 






5*1 








.'jVr’ '- V’ 


Z^- 


^ \KP. 




/6-v 


»i 




r*v 


1 * 




. I 




■«1 


i^Vdd 








fk 


^ .'I 


'»ri. 


» •* 




*.^.j f 








t ■ 






ft 


/I t ‘ % 


!». 


■^¥ 

ilV: 






r# 

^■*<1 — '_j 


* • 


Fj / 


IV 


%ir 










■• 0 




.1 


'T 






n* -rf- 


jr» 


T**Tf 


rA 




•L 




W'»> 


.A 


1 


V*'; 




V * 


k3" 


•1rf 


•> 


■' *i 






tt rr 




.♦»i» 


^41 


f *i 


'r 


« t 


•Itf V 




\y 


|] 4* 




*4 




%»■ 


y 1 * -I 


»r, 




A.X 






±. 'n 










£‘ 


% 




t . r . 


» • « 


♦ 




■» » * 


'.ca 


A *. 








-rw^ V ' ^ 


« * 


41' 






n 




\r 




_ »• 


:'rt 


M> 


•»« 




.»* 


4'^. 


r*i:« 




w . 






^la I 


• ^ 


.'Jt • 


>* ^4 


* ^ 


’iw 








«! 




•.-M 








& r 




4' 


'M 








f’*! 


/)■ 


if" 


4f'ri 


« I 








*• J 




’ kf ' ♦. * 






a * T' 


!< ■*«' 




V 




♦•'1 • 


X"' 




M 4 


14 


« ' I 








r . jUTtj 




ir * ►• 


“ ‘V •> ^ 


It 




I •> 


•I . \ 


^ « 


rl /'* 


•j ^ 

A 

i» *# 




■#4 


'♦4. 


'mt 

.vi'v.v 


tfprr 

•v^rrSir ^ 


4 i ' 


d »f«L' 


'• 




/ k .. Wi ' 'ij 














mm 










c 



a 










